


What Makes A Man?

by Treemeadowisobsessed



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Domestic Violence, Forced Genital Reassignment, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Infant Genital Reassignment, Intersex, Kidnapping, Miscarriage, Mpreg, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pregnancy, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Violence, Transgender
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-24 14:07:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 35
Words: 64,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10743240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Treemeadowisobsessed/pseuds/Treemeadowisobsessed
Summary: AU. When a serious assault forces Batman into a life-altering predicament, secrets long hidden away are revealed, and issues previously unconsidered are brought to the fro.





	1. Growing Pains

**Author's Note:**

> This is a repost of a fanfic I wrote several years ago, I'll be posting it in bits and pieces, edited to be a little more streamlined. Please let me know what you think! It was about 7 years ago that I completed the original, and many things needed adjusting! I hope you like it.
> 
> Thanks!

February 19, Year Unspecified.   
  
Gotham General Hospital Maternity Ward.  
  
It is certain that on face level, the waiting room of a delivery wing is a place of comfort- at least in terms of environment.   
This one had what lacked in most of the other waiting rooms at the time- comfortable chairs, free coffee, even a sleeping bay with hot showers.   
  
In those times, as surely as the experience of giving birth was one that united all mothers, it was the waiting room that united all fathers. It was there, in those rooms often painted in pastel blues where magazines spoke of the joys of parenthood and the radio was always set to the lowest audible volume- that naive young adults became men.  
  
For all that was spoken and jested about the greatest triumph of a young man's life being the loss of his virginity- it was the unwritten and unspoken law that the true coming of age was when he became a father. When he could prove that he had journeyed past his youthful days and was ready to herald in the dawn of the next generation- and for him to be there to say "There, I have passed the torch onward- the human race lives to see another era".  
  
The waiting room symbolised more than just a place for the fathers to pace nervously. It was a place of discovery. Will he be the proud pop' of a strapping young lad, set to be a chip off the ole block?- or will be be the dearest daddy of a darling princess? An angel who, in every turn makes him more in love with the idea of being the most significant man in this girl's life.   
  
And what of the thoughts that run through a man's mind? Little is said that is remembered after the stork's arrival- after the moment the nurse announces, with a firm shake of a bewildered man's hand- that a new person is here. A tiny, vulnerable person that will rely on you for everything.  
  
Then there are the sad times. The news that wasn't expected. For some men, and especially for the father in this prologue- there is much said that he carried forever, and only some of it ever said again. True, he carried it to his grave. Here sat this man. A man considered one of the most affluent and influential men of Gotham City, but today- just a normal, nervous father in waiting. Exhausted for the hours of sitting, he tossed aside a magazine he had read for the tenth time.  
  
Finally we are here- after an eternity, it is at this moment that the doors to the wing open, and he stands to his feet at the sight of his wife's obstetrician. "Dr Wayne" He greets, with a shake of the hand   
  
"All is well. Mother and child are both fine, but...a word, if I may?"   
Unable to speak, Thomas Wayne nods silently, following the Doctor into a nearby consultation room. Without words, the Doctor indicates for him to have a seat, pouring both men a cool glass of water, placing them on the desk. "Dr Wayne...I'm not sure how to tell you this..." He says, trailing off.  
"Doctor, please- just, whatever's wrong. Tell me straight."   
The doctor nods and takes a sip from his glass, sighing.   
"While all vital signs appear normal for the infant, we have not yet been able to identify the sex of the child."   
Thomas Wayne is taken aback. He has heard of this- being a doctor- but still.  
  
"I don't understand"  
  
The doctor nods- "I'm afraid the child is presenting ambiguous genitalia. We can not determine if it is a male or a female." He pauses to allow the news to sink in. " Now, the child is currently undergoing x-rays and internal examination- at no risk to it's health, I assure you-"   
  
Thomas Wayne is understandably bewildered. "...and then?"   
"And then once we know what is going on inside, we will have a clearer picture to match. The genitalia is such that it could effectively be molded either way- with current surgical technology."  
  
Thomas can't focus on anything but a small ink stain on the leather upholstery of his chair. Millions of thoughts run through his mind. Thoughts of blame, and the nagging sense of dread in his stomach. It was supposed to be the happiest day of his life. How could it all be taken away from him- stolen by one sentence.  
  
"Dr Wayne?" He snaps to attention.  
  
"Sorry, Doctor- could you repeat that?"  
  
"That's alright" He says with a pained smile, "I said that should we be unable to determine the sex via x-ray and internal examination we..."   
  
Then he pauses. He bites his lip and were he more present of mind, Thomas Wayne may have noticed the brief change in the doctor's eyes- a passing glint of greed.  
  
"See,you must understand that in this day and age, with so many new theories and studies coming into light, we don't often get a chance to _really_ explore them in a scientific fashion. I am aware of there are other- newer- methods of gender assimilation that you may be interested in trying."  
  
Thomas is unsure of his thoughts on this, but he indicates for the Doctor to continue.  
  
" Now, I am by no means an expert in the field, but I have read that the current thinking on gender is that it is far less to do with the mind, and everything to do with how you raise them." He stops to pull out a medical journal, and opens it to a page with a title running across the top "Nature vs. Nurture- What determines gender identification in humans"   
The doctor continued.   
"While reproduction is a matter of biology, it is believed that gender is a matter of mind. If we are unable to determine your child's sexual identity, then it may be necessary for you to...simply put... _choose_." The men are interrupted by the ringing of the internal telephone line. The doctor answers the phone- listening intently.  
   
"Okay, that doesn't clear it up, does it?" He says with barely veiled enthusiasm" "I can't say I'm _not_ disappointed. This will be an excellent opportunity...the x-rays? Well, I would like to see them anyway, but thank you for telling me. Yes, he's right here." He says, with an eye darting towards the man sitting anxiously in the chair before him. "Mhmm, I intend to do so right away. Ok, see you shortly."   
  
He hangs up, looks toward Thomas Wayne and folds his hands on the desk. "That was my colleague, Dr Freidman. He is the urologist I called in." Thomas nods and attempts to gulp- but finds his mouth completely dry. He sips from the glass. The doctor waits for him to put the glass down, adjusting himself in his chair. He continues. "According to Dr Freidman, the x-rays indicate that there is a small degree of internal organ displacement, there is nothing that can determine for us whether or not your child is male or female."   
  
He goes quiet, allowing the information to sink in. Thomas nods slowly. "Then...I suppose...we will have to decide which..."   
  
"Whichever gender you choose, when the time comes for the child to begin puberty, their growth will be supplemented by hormone therapy, according to which gender you decide."   
  
"I need to speak with Martha..."  
  
"Understandable...but if I may add" His eyes catch onto Thomas's " It is likely that the child will not be able to procreate." He pauses "and I fear that such a condition is more devastating for a woman than a man. Though not always...but still. There is so much more that, should you decide on female, she will be missing in her life."   
  
Thomas nods slowly, dazedly and stands, shaking the doctor's hand. "I'll discuss this with you soon- and if I can make one request-"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Please, under NO circumstance, is this information EVER to leave this hospital. Strictly between yourself and my family?"  
  
"We will be placing the information in a strictly confidential medical file, for mine and Dr Freidman's eyes alone. To be opened at extreme medical necessity only."  
  
"Good. When the time comes I will explain this to my child on my own terms. I need to...need to see my wife and child now."  
  
So with that, Thomas Wayne left the office to go be with his wife. To tell her- that she, as the mother was not yet aware of herself, had a son.  
  
  
  
 **13 years and 7 months later.**   
  
  
Alfred Pennyworth, Butler and Head of House at Wayne Manor, Gotham City, was- for the fourth time in the semester- the recipient of an upset phone-call from the Preparatory School. The first time she called, the speaker on the other end of the line was extremely apologetic and anxious. However with each subsequent call the tone had quickly changed from flustered to frustrated, and this time, downright threatening.   
  
"We assure you, Mr Pennyworth, that although we have taken into consideration young Master Wayne's unfortunate background, should it occur any more we will not hesitate to have him expelled from this school! He sets a terrible example, and allowing him to continue to do so tarnishes our reputation in front of all the other schools. We are a college preparatory- not a reformery!"  
  
She did not even wait for him to offer his assurances that it wouldn't happen again before she hung up. Not that he was going to offer any- false sincerity never went too far, he believed. He was not shocked in the slightest to find Master Wayne in his room, sitting dejectedly upon his bed. He had only been attending the all-boys school for several months, but it was becoming increasingly clear that the confines of the formal institution were not to the formerly homeschooled boy's liking (and the fact that he was mercilessly and brutally bullied did not serve to help matters.)  
  
"Master Wayne" He says casually in form of a greeting. "How interesting to find you here, in your room, with still two weeks to go until the Christmas break"   
  
"I hate it there, Alfred. It's repugnant.I don't like it." The boy said- boy   
  
indeed, for all that he was nearly fourteen, he still had the very high vocal timbre of a much younger lad- and the small frame to boot. Alfred nodded, but proceeded. "That is not the point. One can dislike a great many things that are absolutely necessary."  
  
"Why can't I just keep doing my school work here, with the tutor?"   
  
"Because, Master Bruce, it was your father's wish you attend the family school. Its a matter of tradition. All Wayne boys grow to men within the fine traditions and academic halls of this Prep school."   
  
Bruce Wayne twisted his fists into the bed-clothes beneath him. He looked up at Alfred with fire and hurt in his eyes.   
  
"They're all so much bigger than me-and its not that I have a problem with that- its just." He paused, sighing. "I'm the same age as them, but because I look and sound so much younger, they treat me like I AM younger- and worse- they make fun of my..."   
  
He stopped, the red blush of his embarrassment telling Alfred all he needed to know. Alfred nodded had long been understood by the young heir that he was slightly different in the "private" department. He had always thought it would change with puberty- but that was a long time coming for the boy too.  
  
"Alfred- I know its probably all to do with why I can't have kids, like dad said- but the other guys just don't get it! To them, anything different is something to make fun of- and" he stopped to take in a deep and shuddering breath- and the expression Alfred knew represented fear began to etch it's way across the young lad's face. "I think the stress of it all- the differences, the bullying- I think its giving me ulcers or something"   
  
Alfred nearly laughed- but knew to keep his composure. Bruce Wayne was a serious boy, and never said anything in ignorance.  
  
"Its rare for a young person such as yourself to be consumed with ulcers. Have you spoken to the school nurse?"  
  
"I can't, Alfred- if she knew, then someone else would hear- the infirmary is always housing some injured kid, and they'd hear...and if it got out that I had been bleeding from...from." He let out an exasperated grunt and turned away from the sight of his guardian. "Well. You know what they'd say I'd been _up_ to."

Alfred understood exactly what Bruce meant- for he knew many of the families that sent their sons to this school. He knew what sort of fodder for adolescent cruelty that an association of homosexuality, however unfounded or untrue, would be. But that was the least pressing issue of the moment- for there was a far more serious concern at hand.  
  
"Bleeding? how much? Just a little you pass every day?" Bruce shook his head. "No. Its a lot. My stomach hurts too...like gas cramps..." It did not take Alfred three minutes to book him an appointment with the family doctor. It wasn't even nine am the next day when they were there already there in the office of his doctor, as young Bruce Wayne explained his symptoms.   
  
"Well...it happens when I get really stressed...usually for a few days, because I just can't stand anything. Everything bothers me, and I feel miserable. Then I bleed...and bleed- its always seeping out. I have to stuff toilet paper in my pants...but after a few days it stops. Then weeks and weeks can go by,nothing- but suddenly I feel terrible, and it starts again!"   
  
Alfred prompted him "and your chest..." The boy nodded . "They've been really sore- and they get swollen. They won't go down..."   
  
The doctor nods "Swelling in the chest area is normal for boys going through puberty- however, the bleeding IS a concern, and I would like to have that examined."   
  
Thus, Bruce is subjected to a series of tests- x-rays, blood tests and even an uncomfortable exam that required him to strip, and cough. At the end of it, they had to wait for a week until results came in. Needless to say, Bruce was glad for the excuse to remain home. When at last the results came, Alfred was approached by the Dr. He wanted to discuss them in private- obviously a serious matter. In much the same way Bruce Wayne's own father had sat down opposite a doctor nearly fourteen years prior, so now did Bruce Wayne's guardian, and the news was no better. With half the tact of the doctor who presided over Bruce's birth, this doctor marched straight into the issue.   
  
"I believe that Bruce has suffered from a congenital issue. Born without a vagina..." Alfred gasped. Spluttered. He had not expected to discuss matters of female anatomy- it had not entered his mind. It was one of those moments where he really wished to break his firm butler composure and thump someone on the head. "...well, naturally..." He said, maintaining his composure.   
  
"No" Said the doctor, simply. "Not naturally. For him it is not natural at all. You see- Bruce is, for all biological and genetic indication- a female."   
  
_What is this quackery?_ Alfred thought crossly to himself. "I don't understand"   
  
"I've contacted the doctor who presided over Bruce's birth...and he claims that the child was born with ambiguous genitalia. Apparently...the x-rays did not pick up the hidden uterus- understandable, its hard to x-ray an infant without using too much radiation exposure..."   
  
The doctor paused for questions, and none forthcoming, continued. "As for the uterus- which functions normally, it is not entirely disconnected...it would appear that a fistula connects the uterus and the colon."   
  
Alfred began working it out in his mind- connecting to the information he had just been presented with-noting that it did make sense. He was also angered that Dr and Mrs Wayne had not bothered to tell him...and lastly, he made the connection between the current diagnosis and what had been thought to be ulcers.   
  
"So...its not ulcers. Master Wayne has been...he's..."   
  
"He has been menstruating."  
  
They both fell silent. "So...now what happens?" Asked the Butler.   
  
"It can go two ways." Replied the doctor "The first is to inform Bruce of what has happened, and allow him - or her- to continue to develop into a woman"   
  
Alfred shook his head. "No. That is just not in the boy, I believe that fully. He may not have the right equipment, Doctor, but I know that Master Wayne is not about to turn into a woman. He'd see himself as incorrect- I know that. He regrets not being like others his age, its what he knows. It's who he is. He may be more refined than most, with his intellect and upbringing- but surely if he had any inkling of true femininity in his self-image, we'd have seen it by now?"   
  
The Doctor nods. "Then we can allow him to continue living as a male. He can take testoster-"   
  
"He can't know."  
  
"Sorry?"   
  
"Master Wayne can't know." Alfred spoke tersely. "Believe me. I raised him. I know him. He's had enough devastation in his life. He gets bullied...he-" He lowered his voice "He's depressed. He cries himself to sleep. Everytime I have to send him back to school, I pray that its not the last time I see him. I …I worry what he would do to himself with something else added to all his problems."  
  
"Perhaps you could have him change schools"   
  
"It was Mr Wayne's wish that Master Bruce attend the family school..."  
  
"Well, Mr Pennyworth, you are listed as his full legal guardian. Until he is 18, all decisions concerning his wellbeing are yours to make."   
  
"Then please follow my wishes and do not tell the boy"   
  
"I can't ethically prescribe testosterone without him knowing"  
  
Alfred considered all that was at play here- all that was at risk, and all that he knew about the boy he had raised since an eight year old. He was desperate to prevent anything that could further disrupt his young master's life...and desperation messes with the best man's scruples.   
  
Alfred thought desperately for a moment. Could he do something this unethical? What sort of measure could he take to do what he felt was protecting the best interests of the young lad he had grown to care for as a son?  
  
"Perhaps...I can persuade you. Off the record? I am also in control of Master Wayne's estate until he is eighteen."   
  
The doctor paused, looking the man opposite him in the eye, daring him to take it back- he surely didn't intend to bribe him. Did he? Not that he would accept such an offer. Would he?   
  
"I mean it. However much it will take to keep this information completely undocumented. Unheard. Invisible."  
  
He stopped to consider what he said... "But I can't pay you in one go. The accountant will notice" The doctor squints...if the man is desperate enough?  
  
"I...suppose that it IS helping a patient" He said, without adding that it would also stop the incessant nagging of a wife who was more concerned with her husband's General Practitioner salary than his happiness.  
  
Nodding his head, he begins to write out a prescription. "Then I shall prescribe "Ulcer medication"" He said with a penetrating look. "It shall be paid for in monthly installments. I run it at a special rate- 150% in extra handling costs." Then, smiling as he added "To ensure privacy?".   
  
Alfred immediately agreed, stretching a hand out to seal the deal before it could be taken back. He also had some conditions... "I want the hormones to be labelled as ulcer medication, and I want it to be delivered straight to the mansion, directly to myself. It is to enter the touch of no other, not even Bruce"   
  
"Understood- I suppose I shall also need to inform him that for completely separate reasons, he is unable to produce children-"   
  
"He already knew that. His father told him when he was younger- obviously, he left out a number of details I assume he had intended to save, had circumstances not robbed him of the opportunity"   
  
"Then this shall be easier. Let it be considered that this conversation never occurred...and if it is EVER found out what has been covered up here today- it would mean my entire career. Possibly freedom."   
  
The older man nodded, looking through the window of the office to the teenager sitting sadly in the room next over.  
  
"It will never be spoken of again."


	2. Never Fear

Bruce Wayne was _the_ man. Gotham's richest, most affluent, influential fellow. King of the bachelors, Master of usiness strategy. He was the man-about-town, the one guy _everyone_ wanted to know.

That was exactly the person Bruce Wayne needed to be. He needed to have that air of debonair, the certain trace of aloofness that was attributed to his extravagant lifestyle. Yet that wasn't the real Bruce Wayne. That was a different man altogether. Behind the cast iron gates and spacious manicured grounds, behind the large solid hardwood doors- as ancient as the ground they were taken from.Behind the antique statues and million dollar collector paintings, behind even the old grandfather clock in the study-

Behind the eyes of Bruce Wayne, the man that everybody thought they knew, there was the _real_  man. Batman.

 _And_ the people who _actually_ knew him. Knew who he was, mask or no mask.

Jason Todd, current Robin and ward of Bruce Wayne, sat directly behind Barbara Gordon,a.k.a Batgirl- as she at her brand new computer, demonstrating an impressive piece of new technology that was of great interest to the young Jason.

"…And this" she said, typing rapidly "Is where we put in the data collected from the DNA strands- then you click" She taps the mouse button. "And voila!" The giant monitor sceen suddenly lit up with a map of the entire country, with numerous red dots at various locations all over it.

"This could seriously help me find my biological mother?" Said an awe-raptured Jason. Barbara frowned and shrugged  
  
"Only if she has had her DNA registered on the program. These dots are for a registered criminal- at every location he has been captured, his data is entered. The older the entry, the less vibrant the colour." She points to California "He's currently incarcerated in San Quentin Prison".

Jason sighed frustratedly and stood to his feet, angrily spinning the chair, knocking Barbara in the process.

"Ow, Jason..."

"Come on Jason..." said Dick Grayson from his perch upon a nearby table. "Its early days technology yet..." The former Robin, now known as Nightwing, stood and made his way over to stand behind Barbara, whilst an obviously disappointed Jason chewed the inside of his cheek.

"What's the point of it? " Asked Jason, exasperatedly "How can it help trace criminals?- Or _anyone_ -if their information has to be put in first?"

"Well, it doesn't have to go with a name." Said Barbara "They can use samples from crime scenes and trace their activity. Eventually they'll have scan pads that can immediately put the data into the system, simply from the contact of the specific induvidual they're looking for. Its incredibly useful. Extremely efficient."

"Well…thanks for showing me, I guess. Doesn't put me any further ahead than I was before though…" Jason remarked, as he left the cave.

Dick sighed and offered a reassuring smile to Barbara. "Adolescence…he _is_ impressed. Just, preoccupied."

"I'm not offended" said Barbara, shrugging, "He's got a lot on his plate, I get that…"

 

Bruce- as Batman- walked into the room carrying a large case.

"Dick, can you give me a hand with these?" He said, placing the heavy case on the table that had previously been occupied by the younger man.

"Sure, doing some maintenance?" Dick asked, as Bruce un-did the latches, lifting up the heavy metal lid.

"I'm trying to decide whether or not to retire these. They're not totally gone- but they've been playing up a bit, and I think you could help me decide."

He pulled out the pieces of equipment one by one, the first being a grapple hook, which didn't extend at the press of the trigger.

"Its been sticking- I've pulled it apart and examined it- and for some reason, the darn thing just doesn't shoot on time."

Dick takes the equipment and looks it over. "You're not gonna be able to get into the chamber itself to have a look, are you? You might be better off taking it to Lucius. I wouldn't use it."

Bruce nods. "I agree, but its always good to get a second opinion." He was about to place the faulty grapple hook back in the case when the bat-phone began to ring- he indicated to Dick to replace the case as he answered the phone.

"Commisoner- Batman here"

" _Batman- I'd like to have a word with you about some leads on the string of assault charges. When can I see you in my office?"_

"I'll come over now."   
  


_Gotham City Police Department._

_Commissioner Gordon's Office_

Gordon had been waiting with documentation and evidence already laid out on the table. They had been tracing the activities of this particular induvidual and his group for months. He held he papers up once more, to reiterate certain details for himself.

_Nells Kalinsky alias Sweets_

_Age:38_

_Profile: Mixed race caucasian, 6 foot 2, dark hair worn in a ponytail._

_Previously served time for pandering. Suspect in illegal prostitution and drug related gang deaths. Suspected perpetrator of a series of gang rapes._

_Status: No charges laid. Not enough evidence._

Gordon rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed heavily. The police department had been on the case for months, to no avail. He had decided it was time to bring in the bat, who incidentally, entered the office at that very minute.

"Take a look at these" Said Gordon, by way of greeting. "We're running out of resources." He began to pace around the room, verbalising hs thoughts to Batman, a man he considered his equal when it came to law and order within the city. He continued "Its peculiar, you know- we don't have a shortage of assault victims claiming it was him- but all the kits and forensics say it wasn't. They're either confused, or something is going on here outside our area of expertise."

Batman nodded, overturning the various documents. "So its up to me to figure out exactly whats going on, whether or not Kalinsky is to blame, and if so- how he managed to get away without a trace of DNA."

"Think you can take the case?" asked the commissioner.

The caped man before him began scanning the file information into his portable computer. Then, with only so much as a brief nod, he was gone.

"You're the man."

And with that, Gordon went back to the paperwork.


	3. Almost Got Im

Alfred was preparing his master's evening tray. He was always meticulous with the layout. He prepared it in such a way that Bruce could always take his beverage, or meal- as often it was- without even looking at it, and most importantly, so that Bruce would not forget the most important component.

He finished the preparations the way he had for the past twenty years- by placing one round pill in the small cup next to the glass of water. He was thankful Bruce never questioned it. In the mind of the Batman, it was a necessary chore. Daily consume one small pill, and forever be rid of his ulcer problems.

Alfred hoped beyond all hopes that Bruce never developed actual ulcer problems, but thankfully his medical expertise would probably serve him well in that regard.

He took the tray to his master's suite and placed it on the table next to the armchair, in which Bruce sat, reviewing the documents he had received earlier that afternoon.

"It seems like all these assaults have been taking place in areas that crossover between gang territory. The victims have all been prostitutes." Said Batman, as he reached for the mug on the tray.

"According to Gordon's notes, it seems like they believe the next attack could occur anywhere between Riverside and South City."

Alfred takes one of the sheets to view himself, as Bruce continues with his analysis.

"Those are both areas of high-drug activity, and both borderlines between Sweet's territory, and other gangs." Bruce finishes the mug and continues onto the sweet-cake. Taking a bite, he grimaces and looks up at Alfred. "What's different?"

Alfred looks up from the paper he was perusing. "Low-fat chocolate and no sugar, I believe, sir."

"Why the sudden change?"

"As always, I seek to find new ways to maintain your well-being. Speaking of which…" Alfred clears his throat and indicates the pill still sitting on the tray. Bruce rolls his eyes and takes it without hesitation.

"You know, I skipped taking these for about a month back when I was in Europe …"

Alfred raised his eyebrows, Bruce threw him a sheepish and apologetic expression.

"Nothing happened..."

"Well, sir, one can't be too careful. Especially in your line of work." With that, Alfred left the room, and Bruce retired to an early night, thankful that Nightwing and Batgirl were both on city-watch. He didn't think they'd mind working together.

Later that night- or rather, early the next morning, Bruce found himself woken suddenly by his butler. He opened his eyes to the sight of Alfred- frantic eyed and pale white. It was an expression more fretful than he had ever known the stoic man to express. He reached out and grabbed Alfred on the shoulders.

"Alfred! What's wrong?"

Alfred could barely string his words together, he was pale and Bruce could see tears in his eyes. At length,and after a deep breath, he managed to get a few words out. "Wilfred…an accident."

Alfred's brother.

"Oh, Alfred…"

Alfred closed his eyes for a moment and pinched the bridge of his nose, willing the tears not to fall in front of Bruce. He continued. "He's alive, but they say the recovery will be rather extensive."

"Then go." Said Bruce, anticipating Alfred's request. "Please, you didn't even have to ask, go. Book the first flight and use the card. Take as much time as you need."

Alfred smiled softly. "You've always been such a good lad. I'll take the first available flight- No need to get up, Master Wayne" He added, as Bruce was already standing and putting on his dressing gown.

"Nonsense, Alfred, I'll drive you there myself. I'll meet you in the lobby in ten minutes."

The drive was silent, the check-in and waiting too. It wasn't until the firm handshake as Alfred prepared to board that anything was exchanged.

"Don't forget to take your medication, Bruce- and please keep on top of the dusting. It's not a large place, so it won't take long." Alfred winked, his voice thick even though trying to stay upbeat. He let go of Bruce's hand, and handed his ticket to the hostess.

"See you when you get back, Alfred."

Bruce left only after the plane had long disappeared from sight. He returned home and went up to his room. An entire package of his ulcer medication waiting for him on his bed. He chuckled, and went to put them in his medicine cabinet when a thought struck him.

Perhaps he should test going without them...now that Alfred was otherwise preoccupied. He immediately chastised himself for thinking of using Alfred's misfortune to his advantage like that. Still…if he could go some weeks without any ulceration flare up, then he would know he was healed. Alfred would want the best for his health. Bruce placed them in the bottom drawer beside his bed, and although it was normally a drilled in habit, it didn't take long at all for him to forget them completely.

The weeks went by without much in terms of cases and leads. Mere simple heists to foil and muggers to take to justice. No, the worst thing to plague Bruce Wayne was a number of headaches he'd experienced for the past week. That and Jason was getting on his nerves. It wasn't until late into the evening of the eigth week of Alfred's departure that the monitor in the Batcave sounded a loud ring, prompting all four of the vigilante's into action.

Batgirl briefed the other three with the data on the screen.

"Sensors show that there is a condensation of activity in two "hot zone" locations. I'm estimating ten- maybe even twenty, for each location."

Batman grabbed one of his weapons kits, and turned to Robin.

"With Alfred gone, we're gonna need someone to stay here and man the Batcave."

"Why not Batgirl? its mostly her equipment…"

"Because she did it last night." He turned away from the pouting Robin and gave directions to Nightwing and Batgirl "I want both of you to go to the Riverside location. I'm going to South City. Signal for rendezvous when ready. Let's go!" He ran to his Batpod, and slid in.

"Well...don't have too much fun!" Called Robin from the swing chair as they others all sped away.

It was barely ten minutes later that Batman glided into a backstreet near the scene of action. He moved quietly, and listened for sounds of activity. He crept into the shadows. From his vantage point, he could see four men, all dressed in expensive street-wear, and crouched on the ground between them-a young woman whose shirt was ripped- sporting a bloody nose. The man with the pony-tail spoke.

"Alana, baby-cakes! You're not one of my girls! This isn't your beat, is it?" She wasn't even given a chance to speak as he kicked into her chest with the full force of his steel-capped boot. She was winded, she couldn't even scream as she fell to her side on the ground, frothy red blood spilling from her mouth. Desperately, she tried to return to the most defensive crouched position, but the beating had taken its toll and she was already weak. Without so much as a swift nod from Kalinsky, the other men rolled her to her side and began stripping her clothes.

All of this had happened within seconds, and it was within seconds that the bat-quick reflexes of the Dark Knight were in action, and he was amidst the rubble, throwing men off the girl. Sweets whistled, and from out the corner of his eye, Batman noticed another four or five men slinking out of the shadows. He glanced at the girl. She didn't need to be told. She ran. Batman reached for one of his grapple-hooks, knowing when he was outnumbered. He aimed the tool and pressed the release button-

Nothing.

_Damn it._

Realising he had grabbed the faulty case by accident, Batman decided to make a break for it on foot. He jumped, using one of the thugs as a springboard. He dashed for his vehicle. Sweets was on top of this, he yelled to the men, and in a crash of spilled garbage cans and human bodies, Batman soon found himself pinned to the ground by five men. His face stung as the course, greasy gravel dug into the skin of his cheek. One of the men attempted to remove the mask, but were stopped by Sweets.

"No. Leave it _on_."

With a snarl planted on his slick face, Sweets sauntered around the figure of Batman, firmly pressed to the ground, struggling to get a hold of the situation. He gently tapped the chest of the bat-clad fellow with his boot.

"I think someone needs to learn a lesson about the way things _work_ around here." He jams his foot hard into the middle of Batman's side, twisting it. Batman grunts with the pain, which only spurs Sweets on.

"Indeed" He says, bending down, forcing Batman's chin up to make eye contact.

"I'd _love_ to teach you a lesson, Mr Bat!" His grin sickened Batman. He empathised with the desperate souls who had been lured into his prostitution rings. Is this how he treated them? Was this is concept of punishment?

Then the obtrusive thought hit him. He already knew what Nells Kalinsky was suspected of doing to those he wanted punished. Bruce desperately struggled against the confines of the thug's grips, but with each move he made, the pressure of their knees into back and behind his knee caps intensified.

Sweets reached into his jacket and in a flash of silver, out popped a needle thin, six inch blade. He tossed it to one of the men, who proceeded to dig into Batman's suit- with no regard for the skin beneath. Batman hissed with the burning stinging sensation, aware of the sensation of blood trickling from the skin-deep wounds. with the small purchase the knife made, they then dragged the blade along- slicing all the way along the back of the suit. They moved to other parts of his suit, adding more knives to the effort. Sweets grabbed his chin, the putrification of his breath less than an inch from Batman- he whispered-

"This would have been so much easier if you were in a dress, my sweet." Batman spat at him. Sweets dropped his face to the ground with a hard crack. Batman's bottom mandible bashed against his top, and his teeth jarred painfully. Sweets stood tall, and looked around at his group.

"Come on then. Time to break in the newest whore boys, and oh what a _pretty_ thing she is."

The young girl had run, and run- stopping when she found the nearest phonebooth. She dialed the emergency number. She hadn't even gotten three words in when she heard a gut wrenching cry, a mire of pain, anger and humiliation. It was one of the most awful things she had ever heard in all her life- even in the underworld she inhabited. She didn't continue the call, for in fear, she dropped the receiver and ran.


	4. The Man Who Killed Batman

The sound of police sirens were heard long before their arrival on the scene. Gordon inwardly cursed as his vehicle pulled into the area, which was deserted. Issuing a few orders to seek out the runners, Gordon got out of his car and started scouting the area. He couldn't see anyone. The place was pretty much empty except for a couple of trashcans that had been knocked to their sides, contents spilled. Among the spillage, he could see the usual garbage components- empty containers, food leavings, clippings and something else. He immediately recognised the deep red stains smeared across the ground. He noted the trace of steps, bloody outlines of a lone person's foot, and they led off- someone had wandered away, and judging by the lay of the prints- an un-even swagger, whoever made those prints was injured. He pulled out a swab kit to take a sample of the blood, and lent closer. He noticed something in the prints.

"There's more bodily fluid than just blood here. Possible sexual assault. Secure the area, the perpetrator might still be around."

He took a second swab of the evidence and placed them in a sealed bag. Then he began to follow the footsteps, calling out softly.

"Its ok…if you're still here, please indicate where you are. We're the police and we're here to help you-"

No response, but he heard a rustle. He turned and in the dark unlit shadows of the building before him, he saw a figure moving- but only just. He went to move towards it.

"Stay there!" Demanded a voice.

Gordon was surprised. It certainly wasn't a voice he was expecting.

"Batman?"

"Just, I'll be right with you…I got beat up a little. I'm fine though." Out from the darkness limped the caped man, although whether or not he had a cape was hard to say, as it was gathered so tightly around him. At Gordon's questioning look, he shrugged.

"They had knives and slashed at my suit. The legs are coming off, its not a problem."

Gordon knew that a wrecked suit was not a problem, but there was something in this scenario that really got to him. He stared at the man before him, then to his feet, where the track of blood betrayed the ownership of the footsteps he had earlier traced. Batman noticed the direction of Gordon's gaze, and attempted to shift from view, agitating an injury in the process. Unsuccessfully masking his pained grunt, he started inching towards where he knew his pod to be.

"Batman…" Gordon murmured, moving closer to the injured crimefighter. He tentatively placed his hand on Batman's arm. He shoved it off.

"I'm fine, Gordon."

"Something happened. I can see that." Gordon said.

Batman shook his head.

"They beat me up a little, I'm hurt, but nothing outside of my resources to fix"

"No, you need to go to the hospital. This is serious. Very serious."

"IT'S NOTHING" Growled the Batman, breathing heavily, nose beginning to drip blood anew. "Nothing. They just…beat me…just."

He couldn't finish, his stomach churned, heavy and nauseous, as though his stomach had been inundated with grease and oil, Breathing deeply was all he could do to keep it at bay. Intrusively, the memory of Sweets caused the greasiness to rise, and he couldn't stop it. With a lurch, he expelled it- throwing up all over the ground, unable to control himself. The retching continued long after the greasiness stopped. The contractions in his stomach pressed against his chest, making his ribs burn with agony, and elsewhere as well. Gordon walked over and helped the ill man up. He offered him a mint, which Batman accepted, spitting the bitter taste out of his mouth before consuming it.

"Thanks" he said quietly, then remembering "The girl? Did you find her?"

"She got away- we assume she ran off in the middle of her phone call. She contacted emergency services."

"And have you heard from the others? Batgirl and Nightwing?"

"They managed to get a couple of guys, but none connected to Kalinsky. Drug related- but that's not important."

Gordon wanted to help the man before him. The man he trusted with every single career making case he couldn't solve himself. He knew what had gone on there, that night. It was plain for anyone to see, but for the sake of the other man's dignity, he remained discreet. He bent towards Batman and began to whisper quietly-

"Look, they need to make a kit, its-" He is cut off by Batman's sudden, panicked flinch- "Woah, easy son, sorry-"

The commissioner noticed that he had begun trembling. Gordon remained still until Batman composed himself.

"…don't know what came over me."

"It's fine..." Gordon continued, this time keeping his distance, a close eye on personal space. "No one will have to know. But, for your sake, you really need to get checked out. You could be seriously hurt…"

Batman turned his head from Gordon's gaze, beginning to limp away, aiming for his vehicle.

Gordon didn't want to bother him any more, but one question burned- and it was important. He considered whether it was appropriate timing, but losing his chance, he called after him-

"Listen...if not for your own sake, then…then for the sake of the case, and for justice- I know those are important to you- can I ask?"

Batman hesitates, but nods quickly. Silently. Gordon hesitates, before, dropping his tone.

"Was it Kalinsky?"

Again, Batman gave one silent nod, and turned toward the backstreet, but Gordon needed to know just one more thing.

"Please, Batman. What can I do?"

Batman turns to the man, still not looking him in the eye.

"Pretend this never happened."

He left.


	5. Perchance to Dream

After a slow drive to delay his return as long as could, Bruce pulled into the cave and hoped fervently that everyone else had already left. A small sigh of relief to find it vacant. With a deep sigh, he sought out his dressing robe and began switching outfits. He held his breath as he inched out of the suit, trying to reduce the pain levels as much as possible. He stopped to inspect the gashes on his back and legs, deciding that they weren't serious. All the blood had been from...well, anyway, he could tend to them later. He picked up his discarded suit, now rendered practically useless. Still, it was worth investigating which parts could be salvaged. The cape was fine, the torso, the belt.

Then, as his eyes drifted lower, the thumping in his chest grew steadily faster. An enraged panic rose from within. His expression twisted angrily and with a pained yell, he threw the offensive piece of clothing into the cave's incinerator with as much strength as he could summon. He stood panting, staring at the incinerator. He knew there were more suits, but none would ever make him feel safe again. With a final glance cast towards it, he turned and made his way up to the mansion- to his rooms.

He moved without conviction. His actions instinctive rather than intentional.

Eventually, he found himself stripped, standing with his feet upon cool tile and the sensation of scalding hot water beating down against his bruising skin. He ducked his head under the jetting stream and drifted into oblivion for moments…or hours. He wasn't quite sure. When he opened his eyes again, he saw the drain and drifting downwards in a spiral-the blood stained water that had drained off his legs, his back and from-

He shook the thoughts away.

Still...Gordon was right, in a way. He needed to know he wasn't seriously hurt.

Carefully, with trembling hand, he reached in between his legs, gasping when the skin of his fingers came into contact with the hot rawness between, where he knew a gross violation had not only hurt his sense of self, but physically ripped him apart as well. When he brought his hand back up, he noted evidence of congealed blood mixed with the mark of another man. In fact, a mark that Bruce himself had never been able to make.

He had always known he could not produce as the other men did. His father had told him. In his mind, he could envisage his father- handsome and kind. Everything a man should be, he thought. The opposite of men like Sweets. Like Nells Kalinsky.

He remembered.

"It isn't fair." cried the eight year old Bruce.

"No son. Its not really fair. You were born missing some parts that other boys have, and…because of that, you won't be able to make your own children."

His father bent down to one knee in front of his son and looked him in the eyes.

"But it doesn't make you less of a man, Bruce."

Bruce screwed his eyes shut and lent his forehead against the cool ceramic tiling. With the hot shower still drifting over his head and body, he allowed the tears to slide down while they mingled with the water, and escape indiscernible through the drains.

He wasn't sure how long it had been when he decided to turn the water off. Probably when it had started to feel cool against his now very red skin. He figured it must have been a long time if the whole mansions hot water supply had started to ebb.

He patted down the cuts and sore-spots gently with his towel, and dressed them haphhazardly with dabs of antiseptic. He went to dress, and pulled out a pair of his briefs, pausing as he went to pull them on. Memories of his days as a boy at school- with bleeding problems. Embarrassing moments when he tried to hide his stained shorts away so that no one would see them. He pulled a sheet of gauze out of the medical kit and placed it in the seat of his undergarments. He then proceeded to grab the box of sleeping tablets, taking two before returning the box to the medical kit. He continued dressing for bed.

When dressed, he slid gently under the covers. He found it difficult to ease into a position that was comfortable. He eventually settled as well as he could on his side. He switched his bedside lamp off. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he found himself staring at the phone on his bedside table. He began wondering when Alfred would return. He wondered if he would return just because he, Bruce, requested it. Would he accept "Because I say so" as a reason?

Probably not. All the same, Bruce had a deep sinking feeling in his stomach that reminded him of his first nights at school. Those homesick weeks that were filled with the desire to be back home. Now he was home, but it was emptier than usual. Empty of his parents. Empty of sound. Empty of light. Alfred.

And so, Bruce's last thoughts as he drifted off to sleep were thoughts of emptiness.

His own.


	6. Off Balance

Alfred Pennyworth stepped out of the taxi cab which had transported him home from the airport. He had been away for nearly three months helping with his brother's rehabilitation following a road collision. While it couldn't be described as "enjoyable", it had been nice to spend some time with his relatives and family back home. Still, he thought as he carried his suitcases up the stairs to the front entrance of the great manor, There's no place like home.

Once inside, he was greeted warmly by the two younger male occupants of the mansion. However, he noted with surprise he didn't show, Bruce himself was not present to welcome him home. Although he was not offended by this, it did strike him as rather odd for the man (He assumed that, as unusual as it was for that time of day on a weekend, he was off on a case or some business dealing).

"How is your brother, Alfred?" Asked Jason, who had missed the presence of Alfred more than the older, more self-reliant Dick.

"He is recovering quite well, actually. Not nearly fast enough for him- but then, his penchant for speed is what got him into his mess in the first place." He continued up the stairs, aiming for his personal apartments. He noted that the two younger men were still following him, though at a distance.

"I take it all is well here?" He asked, knowing it would be easier for them to express a complaint if given the "permission" to do so.

Dick and Jason looked at each other uneasily. What could they say?

Alfred lowered his suitcase slowly to the floor and turned to face them.

"I gather not, then?"

Dick shrugged and began.

"Bruce hasn't been himself…I mean…really not himself."

"What has he been doing?" Alfred asked.

"Nothing. He's been in bed for nearly a week." Answered Jason. "He goes down to the kitchen to get himself some food…and then goes back to his rooms."

"Is he unwell?" Suggested Alfred

"No. Not that I can figure." Replied Dick "Besides, its not like he's ever let a little illness get in the way before."

"Have you spoken to him about this?"

Both nod, but Jason adds "Its hard to…he seems, really out of it. I know he's gone through a bottle of sleeping pills- although I don't know if it was full or not. Still."

"Still," continued Dick "When he isn't sleeping, he's even more into himself than usual. He pretends that everything is normal, he even came down to breakfast the other day…but." He sighed, "I don't know what it was, but I bumped into him when we were both turning the same corner from different directions. He nearly jumped out of his skin- and his eyes." Dick looked haunted from the very memory of it. "I don't think he was even in the room. It was almost like he was having a flashback or something."

Alfred turned the information over in his mind. It didn't seem to fit Bruce's personality at all. True, while he knew that Bruce had a tendency to stay to himself and think deeply (what others might call "brooding") he had never allowed it to cut into his self-appointed duties as Batman. No, Alfred could see that there were missing pieces to this puzzle.

"That's not all, Alfred." Continued Dick.

Alfred knew it wasn't.

"Commissioner Gordon called on the Bat-line …and, when I said that Batman wasn't really up and around at the moment, he didn't seem surprised at all. In fact, he told us to tell him that the Gotham police force could handle everything for now- that he wasn't obliged to do anything."

"We think," Suggested Jason "That maybe he and Gordon had gotten into a disagreement…but then, that's kind of out of character for Bruce as well. He has never let personal disagreements get in the way of professionalism."

"No, I quite agree." Replied Alfred, picking his suitcase up. "I shall see what I can find out, once I have unpacked."

Dick and Jason both sighed, their relief visible.

"We can always rely on you, Alfred." Said a gracious Dick, to which, Alfred jokingly rolled his eyes and proceeded into his apartments.

A short while later, Bruce found himself startled out of sleep at the sound of knocking on his bedroom door, accompanied shortly after by the sound of Alfred's voice.

"Master Bruce, am I to believe you are still in bed at this time of the day? Its late afternoon."

Bruce sat up and breathed deeply as his heart rate returned to a normal speed.

"Master Bruce?"

 _Oh of course!_ Bruce recalled with a jolt that Alfred was due home that morning.

"Uh, come in Alfred." He said, rushing out of bed, and attempting to look as though he hadn't just woken up. Alfred entered the room.

"Alfred! Sorry I didn't meet you downstairs…I was…"

"Its all well, sir, I'm sure you had more pressing matters at hand." He said, with a raised eyebrow directed towards the unmade bed which had only just been occupied moments before. He walked over casually and began making the bed as Bruce watched on.

"Alfred, you're still on your time off. You don't have to do that."

"Bruce, you are wearing your dressing gown inside out."

Bruce looked down and sure enough, it was. Still, he did not want to take it off and change with someone else in the room. It wasn't for fear of Alfred seeing the bruises and healing cuts- those were just part of everyday life between this billionaire and his butler. No, he had a hard time being looked at. As though- if looked at closely enough, someone might find out something. Or know something. No. He decided to leave his dressing gown as it was.

"Not changing, sir?"

"I'm about to take a shower anyway." He lied, having already taken one that morning. "No point changing it just to take it off again.".

Alfred pulled the sheets up, and began straightening the quilt. He didn't look up at Bruce, but he began talking.

"I was speaking to young Masters Dick and Jason."

Bruce paused. He had a feeling they might have brought something up about his absence eventually.

"Oh?" He replied, casually.

"Yes." Said Alfred, as he picked up each pillow in turn, fluffing them. "Is it true you haven't left the mansion in a week?"

Bruce shrugged. "Well, I, I hadn't been feeling well, to be honest. They might have been worried because, well, the medication I was taking kinda kept me out of it. I'm fine now."

Alfred replaced each pillow in turn, and stood, staring at Bruce with a keen eye that made the taller man feel very exposed. At length, Alfred spoke.

"…has it started again?"

Bruce wasn't sure what he was referring to at first, but then it clicked.

"No…no its not that. I just wasn't well."

"Have you been taking the medication?"

Bruce said nothing. To occupy his nervous hands, he reached for a brush and went to start combing his hair. The sudden movement in swinging his arm upwards caused the muscles of his rib cage to tighten, illiciting a sharp wince from the man. Alfred noticed, but didn't say anything. He assumed it had to do with crime-fighting, as all Bruce's injuries did.

But he also noted that Bruce had not answered his question. Without speaking, he walked over to the bedside table and pulled open the very bottom drawer. Bruce's stomach lurched with guilt as Alfred proceeded to pull out a completely full prescription of "ulcer medication."

"How…how did you know I'd put them in there?" Bruce asked, who had quite honestly forgotten about them.

"Its where you used to hide sweets I'd forbidden you to eat when you were younger, oh." He said, standing up. "And a few magazines I assume you only read for educational purposes."

Bruce blushed and folded his arms awkwardly. "I didn't think you knew about those…"

"I know everything, sir." Said Alfred as he opened the box and began counting the tablets.

"Bruce!" He admonished seriously "You haven't taken one since I left!"

"Yes," Confirmed Bruce, annoyance tinting his tone "And I haven't had any symptoms. No irritability, no pain, no bleeding."

Well, He added mentally, None that can be attributed to ulcers.

Alfred sighed and returned the pills to their box. "And we can be sure that this last week had nothing to do with the possibility of ulcers returning?"

Bruce rolled his eyes.

"Alfred, this passed week is nothing like ulcer symptoms. I've studied anatomy- and you- you're a medic. You know better."

Indeed, Alfred knew that he knew better. Still, he could trust that Bruce wasn't lying when he told him the symptoms hadn't returned- and it had been nearly three months. He supposed that it was possible the organs Bruce had been "miss-assigned" in the womb may well have ceased functioning. He made a mental note to research it in more depth later. There was still another issue at hand.

"Master Dick mentioned something about you nearly dying of fright when the two of you bumped into each other in the halls the other morning."

"Oh, that" Bruce said with false non-chalance. "I was just startled. Nothing for him to be concerned over."

Alfred didn't fall for it.

"He said you seemed to be having a flash-back." He paused, casting a glance to the extensive bruising that was just visible from beneath the hem of Bruce's inside-out dressing gown. "Does it, by any chance, have anything to do with the massive contusions and lacerations on your legs?"

Bruce said nothing. He had just spent the better part of the last week coming to terms with what had happened, and in his mind he had felt it was time to move on. To bury it, like his parents. His voice became forced, and too light when he responded.

"Just a rough night with a gang I ran into. My weapon faltered and I didn't get out before they roughed me up just a bit. I took care of it, and I'm fine."

"and this happened a week ago?"

"How do you figure that?"

"Do you even have to ask, Master Bruce? I can tell very easily by the colouration and stage of healing in those injuries."

Bruce very well didn't have to ask, but doing so stalled time, and questions. He decided to turn the conversation into a direction where he could control it.

"Anyway, that's why I was in bed this passed week. An infection, fever. I was dosed up on painkillers and anti-biotics."

"And the sleeping pills?"

"Alfred, you know I have trouble sleeping at the best of times. The pain, plus my inactivity as Batman didn't improve the situation." Bruce silently congratulated himself on his quick thinking. He decided to seal the deal and tie off the loose ends, thus righting himself in the eyes of Alfred and the boys.

"Well, I'm much better now. In fact, I intend to get back to Commissioner Gordon tomorow morning. This evening, I intend to spend in the cave doing some much ignored research." Bruce took a step towards his ensuite "And right now," He added "I intend to take a shower. Its wonderful to have you back, Alfred, please relax. I'll see you downstairs later. I hope you'll join the boys and I for dinner. You have a lot to tell us, I'm sure."

He slipped into the bathroom, and waited until he heard the footsteps of Alfred leave the room, followed by the click of his door as it shut. He leaned against the wall, his sigh of relief deep. From where he stood, he could see himself in the mirror. Feelings of shame flooded him and he turned his head away from the vision of himself. Then, he began to fill the tub, figuring a bath would keep him in the safety of his rooms a bit longer than a shower would.


	7. Heart of Ice

True to his word, Bruce rose earlier the next morning and made his way into the Gotham City Police Department. In the broad daylight he felt more comfortable. Almost safe. He slipped into the building by his usual entrance (the window) and waited for a free moment to see Gordon. This didn't work out to his favour. The longer he stood waiting in that hall, the more anxiety rushed through his veins. Gordon was one of the last people he wanted to see, for reasons he no longer wished to even think about. However, he had inwardly agreed with himself that in order to "move-on" he would need to return to a normal schedule. Still, there was an intense fight or flight struggle working within his mind and he was about to give into his desire to flee when Gordon opened the door and invited him in.

With a mental sigh and not so much as an outward display of discomfort whatsoever, Batman walked into the office.

Gordon didn't want to be the first to talk, he silently watched and waited for a cue from the man before him. He wanted to gauge where Batman was at.

He spoke.

"Anything more on the Belgian Miniature case?" Batman asked.

Gordon shrugged. "Nope, by now its probably sitting on a teetering pile of valuable art waiting for sale on the blackmarket."

Batman didn't have a response. Gordon decided that this was the best time for him to take a chance and discuss things with the caped man before him. He indicated to Batman to take a seat, which Batman politely refused.

"No thankyou, if you don't mind. I'm more comfortable standing."

Gordon didn't ask whether that was down to actual discomfort (from injuries, perhaps?) or a need to maintain control in the situation. He decided to put the man at ease and sit himself down- a signal of submission. He wanted to show Batman that he was trustworthy. He lowered his voice to a comfortable level, but one that could not be heard outside the room.

"How are you, Batman."

Batman felt the hot blood rushing to his skin and willed it to stay away.

"I'm fine." He replied.

Gordon nodded slowly. He decided to go out on a limb and make a personal inquiry.

"I don't know anything about your personal life, Batman, but…is there someone you've told? Someone you can talk about this with."

Batman shifted about uncomfortably in his standing position, he immediately folded his arms across his chest. Both men knew it was a subconscious action of defense.

"Look, Gordon…I've dealt with this. Its behind me now. What we need to do is bring criminals to justice. I'm not the focus here. I'm perfectly fine."  
  
Though Gordon had never been able to read him before, his experience in this field gave him an advantage. He was reading Batman like a book. It made Bruce uncomfortable as Gordon replied.

"…and if I were to say "I don't believe you," What then? What if I were to suggest you may trying to repress what happened, maybe without dealing with it?"

Batman stared at the man across the desk.

"Maybe it's not a bad idea." He replied darkly.

Gordon sighed.

"And If I were to say it's a terrible idea?"

"Then I'd accept your _opinion_."

"Batman, I'm a police officer. I'm a commissioner. You don't think I'm not trained in assault crisis? " He paused, adding more gently "You think I don't know what happens to a person who is raped?"

He felt a spike of guilt at using the triggering word, a sharp jolt of regret when he saw the tall mask-clad man before him flinch. He could even see the rapid rising of his chest as his heart-rate increased. He couldn't imagine how fast that pulse would have been moving.

Still, at least Batman was not denying it. That was a positive step in the right direction. He continued more softly.

"It's a big thing, what happened. Its going to take more than a week for you to sort through your emotions."

Batman was silent.

"and," Gordon added, leaning forward "You're going to need to have someone there who will be ready for you when it all comes crashing down." He leaned back "Because, frankly, Batman, I don't think you've even fully accepted what has happened here."

They sat in silence for several moments, each processing uncomfortable thoughts and the things they wanted to say, but were not sure how to put into words.

At length, Batman began speaking.

"I appreciate what you're trying to do for me, Gordon, and were I in your position, I would be giving the same advice." He looked out the window, depserately wanting to find himself climbing through it to freedom. He shook the thoughts away and continued. "But the fundamental thing here is- you don't know who I am. I deal with things differently than other people. Otherwise, I wouldn't be this figure you see before you. I would be just another man."

"Batman, I can't deny that you may believe that, and for all I know you could be right, but-" he paused to stand and walk over to the Batman. "If you're not right, then you may only be setting yourself up for a harder fall than is really necessary." He laid a hand across one of Batman's crossed arms- as a test.

Gordon's suspicions were confirmed when he noticed the increasing discomfort of the other man. His breathing began to become shallow, and rapid. He flinched and reflexsively stepped back. It took several seconds for Batman to realise what he had done. He looked away from the other man, ashamed to be caught out in his fear. Ashamed to have been proven wrong.

Gordon didn't say anything about it. He still needed to tell Batman one more thing.

"Batman, I don't know if this is the right time for me to say it, but…the DNA testing came back."

Batman merely nods his assent for Gordon to continue.

"Tell me to stop if this is making you uneasy…but I need to know…was it Kalinsky alone that…assaulted you?"

Batman coughed slightly to ease his own anxiety. While turning his head just enough to avoid eye-contact, he nodded swiftly. Once. He didn't want to bring any more awareness to it than he had to. Gordon cursed. Then lifting the documents once again to look at them, he sighed angrily.

"He's done it again. Not one trace of forensic evidence to suggest it was him."

Batman felt a sinkhole open within him, but more than that- the sense of justice that had spurred him on his whole life came back with force.

"There are witnesses. The women he assaulted- they can testify!"

"Five of our six witnesses were found to be under the influence of drugs at the time." Gordon looked up at Batman, " And you're the sixth witness."

Batman began shaking his head. "No. I can't testify. Batman keeps a low profile, and…and"

Gordon finnished his sentence.

"and you're a man."

"That's not what I was going to say."

"But its what you meant."

Gordon didn't need Batman's affirmation to prove his point. He had seen it many times before. Male assault charges dropped because the induviduals involved were too ashamed to be recognised as victims of male-rape. It was a taboo that had permeated society, and would continue to do so as long as sexual-violence was associated with weakness, or submissiveness. He also knew the perception of rape being a "woman's issue" had its impact on the number of un-reported male-assault cases.

But at this moment, he didn't press the issue. The man before him was not yet at a place where he was ready. He could only hope the conversation had been opened, and that the right seeds had been planted in Batman's mind, spurring him to make the right decisions for himself.

"Is that all, Commissioner?" Asked Batman, after another considerable stretch of silence.

"Yes." Replied Gordon. "In fact, I don't want to see you in here for another two or three weeks at least. Unless…unless its to talk about something other than a case."

Batman sighed. "Won't Gotham notice the absence of Batman?"

"We'll feed little tidbits of supposed Batman activity to the media. They never _see_ you in action anyway, so it won't make too much of a difference."

The masked man nodded, and left the way he came in.


	8. Shadow of the Bat

Things were DULL at the Ha-Hacienda, hideout of the Joker and his cronies. Under normal circumstances a dull day didn't bother the Crown Prince of Crime. He always had some new heist to plan or prank to play. Naturally, if things got especially boring he found he could often rouse enough spirit to go pull a few random murders here and there- keep people on their toes! Of course, there was also the constant game of cat-and-mouse with Batman that the Joker so intrinsically enjoyed. It was NEVER a dull moment if Batman had anything to do with it.

Until now.

The Joker kicked a can of trick-nuts out of his way, which resulted in the need for quick de-fumigating when the can crashed against a wall, causing its gas-releasing mechanism to kick in. The room was suddenly filled with the freezing blast of a giant fan, and a number of henchmen waving blankets and cardboard boxes furiously to remove the noxious toxins from the air. Of course, the Joker didn't even bat an eyelid. Instead he found himself collapsing into his worn-out armchair with a melodramatic sigh.

"Aw, whats'a matter, Puddin?" came the Brooklyn-born voice of his perky and quirky henchgirl cum "lover", Harley Quinn. She attempted to curl around his feet in what she thought was a demonstration of submissive devotion, but only found herself acting as a footrest when the Joker lifted his feet to rest them on her back.

"You know," The Joker whined, "It's been nearly six weeks since I've seen or heard anything from the Batman!"

"But Boss," Harley replied "It can be months between head-offs between the two o' you. How is this any different?"  
  
The Joker scowled and yanked Harley up by one of her cowled piggy-tails, an action which drew out a startled yelp.

"Harley, its one thing for there to be months between stand-offs between Batsy and _myself_ , but for weeks to go by and see absolutely _none_ of him?" He released his grip and Harley crashed to the floor with a _whoompf ._ He turned without a second thought and made his way over to a giant map and calendar plastering half the wall. It was marked at the top by the words "Evil Day Planner" in red. Each day was filled with notes not only of his own villainous activities, but those of Gotham's other famed crooks. The Joker had many snitches and sources in the underground of Gotham. He also had at least one in every major security center- of course including the police force. Getting information was only a matter of a little honest bribery... or threats, whichever he fancied, really.

His giant planner had a small bat-symbol for every incident that had involved (read:been halted by) Batman. It had symbols at least every other day, sometimes multiples, but for six weeks they had stopped. Completely ended. The most recent Batman activity had been a visit to the Police department (for which the snitch could not gather any specific details.) That had been five weeks ago. Over a month and no Batman activity.

"Maybe your snitches are on strike," Suggested Harley. "He's still all over the news." She held up a week-old newspaper article lauding yet another of Batman's crime-foiling ways.

"You idiot, Harley." The Joker admonished. "Its all fake! A ruse! Plants to cover up why Batman is hiding away!" He paced back and forward before the giant calandar.

"Maybe he got done-in..." Offered Harley, who found herself suddenly hurled into a pile of boxes. "You're right..." she said shakily. "That was a stupid thing to say."

After getting up and dusting herself off, she looked up to find the Joker staring pointedly at a specific date six weeks earlier. His face dark.

"The last people he had dealings with were drug pushers and pimps down on the South Side." He said to himself as usual, although Harley often liked to believe his mutterings were always directed at her. "But my girl on the inside said she _ran off_ when Batman arrived. Now I don't know what happened thanks to a stupid _hussy_ who couldn't stay put for the easiest money she ever earned in her life!"

"Its a shame you don't have any insiders with Sweets."

Joker turned to glare at Harley.

"How did _you_ know it was Kalinsky?" He asked her, voice dripping with poison. He had _not_ shared that info with Harley.

Harley merely sauntered off. "A girl has her secrets, Mister J."

"Mister J" responded with a full can of baked-beans lodged at her back. Ignoring the loud thud accompanied by an even louder "Ow!" he turned back to the calendar and proceeded his thought-train aloud.

"I need to find out where Batsy is _now_. Its been long enough, its time for him to come out and _play_."  
  
  
  
Later that night, Harley crept out of the creaking, worn out bed she was occasionally permitted to share with her beloved "Puddin''" and out into what passed for a "living room" in their spacious, echoing hideout. She turned on the television set and proceeded to sit down, nursing her sore body. She didn't mind the aches and bruises that resulted from spending "quality time" with the Joker. She took it to be marks of pride. Evidence that he _did_ love her enough. He just liked to play rough. At least that was her justification.

She watched the TV vacantly, occasionally catching snippets here and there, but not really paying attention. Her mind drifted off to the private thoughts she often delved into at this time of night. Her vision wandered over to a small closet halfway along the wall opposite to her. It was a place she spent a lot of time, just sitting in there. Reflecting. Remembering.

But the Joker didn't like her going in there. It really ticked him off, so she would often save it for times like this, when everyone else was asleep.

So, she left the couch, TV still blaring something about _...r expert discovers new gene replacement technology_ or whatever. It didn't interest her. Science used to be her thing, but not anymore. Not since they stripped her of her degrees. Not since she found a new life in her escapades with the Joker.

Not since Harleen Quinzel died, replaced forever by Harley Quinn.

 

 

 


	9. Over the Edge

Barbara, Dick and Jason spoke in hushed undertones about the man of the house, who was beginning to make them worry in many ways afresh.

"He still gets startled everytime you walk up behind him without making your presence known. I mean- really startled." Said Dick.

"He doesn't like leaving the lights off either," Added Jason. "He left a room once, and, well, you know how he is about saving energy. I assumed he'd forgotten, so I turned it off. I barely left, and he came right back and turned it on. Not just the reading room, but all the rooms near his bedroom. I think he's been sleeping with the lights on low in his room as well."

"He's afraid of something, and I think its more than just being spooked." Said Barbara. "I don't think he's feeling too great. He hasn't been working out..."

"How do you know?" Asked Jason.

"His muscles are less toned." She replied, which for some reason made Dick shift uncomfortably, she continued. "He's also thrown up twice in the last three days."

They sighed. 

"I found a destroyed grapple hook...It was inside the top of the Cave's incinerator. It was when I went to clean the ashes out- it must have got caught there when he went to throw it away. Its not that I'm surprised he wants to throw a faulty weapon out. Its that...it was severely trashed first. It had to be him- he must've totally laid into it."

"Maybe he just wants to give it all up..." suggested Barbara.

"Without telling us?" Asked Jason. "No. I wouldn't believe that, that isn't Bruce at all."

"Well...he isn't really himself these days at all, is he?" Dick responded.

"I think we should all just bring it up with him." Said Barbara "If we see no change in a week, or if he doesn't bring it up first, then we'll say something. Agreed?"

Jason and Dick catch each others eyes to gauge response, then both nodding their agreement.

In the Batcave, Bruce was already planning his change. He had dressed in his suit. Tonight would be his first night back on patrol. In his mind, he felt felt certain that the only way to decrease the cold-clutch of fear that enveloped him every second of the day would only dissipate with action. Action against injustice.

He reached for one of the weapons cases, unclipping the latches and pulling the weapons out. He had always checked them before, but now he was certain he would never leave the cave without triple, even quadruple- checking. He tested each, putting them in their respective belt locations only when completely certain they were working.

"Going out tonight, sir?"

Gasping in surprise, Batman felt his heart lurch forward. He quickly regained composure and turned to face Alfred.

"Yes. Its about time I got back to things...this bug has, uh...taken its time."

Alfred didn't say anything, only walking over to Bruce to assist with his weapons check. Somewhere, in Bruce's silence over the past month and a half, Alfred had heard more than enough. He could see with eyes that the others did not. He understood that for some reason his Master was not yet ready to discuss, Bruce had been nearly broken. Alfred was his loyal servant-his guardian- the man who knew things about Batman that Batman himself did not know. He knew it was his duty above all others to bring solace to Bruce. Though he did not yet know how.

Bruce was now converted to Batman. He turned to his butler.

"Alfred, could you please check the cowl...make sure its fully connected."

Alfred nodded and circled his master as he investigated not only the cowl, but every aspect of the suit to ensure it was in working order. The scenario reminded both of nights long ago, when a small boy lay huddled in his bed as his devoted servant-turned-guardian scoured the large wardrobes for "monsters and bats." before he would say-

"All is well, Master Bruce."

Bruce snapped out of his reverie. Alfred was standing before him. Neither moved or made a sound for a few moments, until slowly, without warning, Alfred placed an affirming hand on Batman's arm. To which Batman was surprised he did not flinch, or even shudder. He was even about to reach his hand up, but Alfred smiled briefly and left, with a parting word as he vacated the room.

"I don't need to tell you this, but, please be careful, sir."

Alfred had already left when Bruce replied.

"If only for you, old man."

...

 

The night was cool. Fresh. Clear. From his position high above the crawling streets of Gotham, Batman could see the entire scope of the inner-city. It was, in more ways than one, a calm night, So far, there hadn't been one incident to call his attention. For all he could tell, it seemed that Gotham was behaving itself. He stood, feeling rather comfortable in the darkness.

"Batman- why are we even here?" Asked Robin, breaking the silence. "This part of town has the lowest crime rate of the city!"

Batman sighed inwardly and turned to face his teen sidekick. "It pays to keep an eye on all of Gotham, just because crime goes unreported doesn't mean it isn't happening."

Robin kicked a stray piece of tiling and sauntered around the roof, wandering about in boredom for several minutes before returning to Batman's side. He didn't mean to be aloof- he wanted to reach out to the man he had begun to feel disconnected from. He stared up at his mentor and guardian for several moments. He spoke.

"I think my biological mother might be somewhere outside the country..."

Batman nodded slowly. Robin continued.

"Still no idea where though."

"What will you do if you find her?" Asked Batman, pretending to be keenly observing the crime-less streets below.

"I dunno." Replied Robin. "I think...I'd definitely ask her why she left. If she loved me..."

Batman turned towards the young man standing beside him. More than anything else in the world he wanted that young man to be as happy as he could be, given his background. He wanted him to have the things that he, Batman himself, didn't. Among those things especially was peace of mind. Suddenly, he felt a little guilty for being so absent the passed two months.

"Robin...I want to apologise. I'm sorry I haven't been as involved with your search lately...I've just been kind of off colour..." He trailed off. Robin leaned forward keenly. Perhaps here was Batman's reveal. An explanation for why he had been hurting so much more than usual, for reasons far beyond the superficial illness he seemed to have been dealing with for the previous weeks. But the caped man didn't say anything more. Robin sighed and began nervously twisting his fingers. He felt that now would be a perfect time, while they were alone and un-cluttered, for him to bring up his genuine concerns. However, like so many things between them, it went unsaid.

They were both shaken out of their private thoughts by the tone of their communicators. Nightwing's voice began sounding through the speakers.

"Batman and Robin, I need your help down at the corner of Macy's and Redmond! Its a group."

Robin sprung into action, followed a split-second later by Batman. In his mind hundreds of different scenarios played out, each more terrifying and frightening than the ones preceding it. However, instead of fear pulsating through his veins, he felt a strange dis-connection from himself. Suddenly he felt anger more than any other emotion he could summon. It controlled him. Consumed him.

They landed at the scene of action and without even waiting to assess the situation, Batman plunged into the thickness. A group of four men in a brawl over...something.

Batman began throwing punches everywhere. Hatred fueled right hooks and uppercuts. Grown men were knocked to the ground with sickening cracks as bones snapped on the pavement.

Batman didn't hear. He didn't see. It wasn't those four new criminals he had never seen before. All he could see were the faces of the men who had pinned him down. He whipped a hand up to his face- suddenly feeling the hot, stinging sensation of the oily gravel digging into his cheeks. He knew what was going to happen next...but this time. He was determined it wouldn't happen again. He grabbed one of his assailants and threw him against a wall, and as he slid to the ground, he picked him up and threw him again. The man groaned in agony, and his shoulder hung limply. Batman laughed. The attacker deserved his pain. All of them did.

When Batman was sure the man wouldn't get up, he went to land another punch right into the gut of one of the other attackers. He pulled his arm back, ready to swing- The man before him cowered in fear, which only spurned Batman on. He wanted them all to feel that nauseating fear. That sense of incredible unease that would lead to them never feeling safe again. Batman grinned as he lunged his arm forwards, only to find he couldn't! An unknown force held him back. His arms wouldn't move. He strained against the phantom weight restraining his arms. "LET GO" He shouted at this force. He tried to kick at it...only to find himself pinned in the spot by another unseen force. What were they doing? These unseen...no, wait.

They were arms...two pairs of arms holding him back. He shook his head...he knew that wasn't right. He was alone. That was half his problem, he came to South Side alone and that's why the men were attacking him.

But...that was weeks ago. Wasn't it?

This was different. This was another night...and he had been out with Robin and Nightwing and...

He gasped. Suddenly dropping all resistance as he looked about him. At one side stood Nightwing, still holding firmly to the arm that had poised to land a potentially mortal wound only seconds before. As his heart rate dropped, he noticed the arms of Robin still holding him around the waist, slowly easing their grip. Before him sat the broken and agonised bodies of men...men he couldn't even be sure if he was meant to apprehend or not. He stared at his blood-and-mucus splattered gloves. A heavy weight dropped into his stomach, so heavy in fact, he could swear it was the weight of it that pulled him to his knees.

"My god..." he whispered. The sound of sirens rolling onto the scene woke him from his daze. Police vehicles accompanied by two ambulances. Batman felt himself being pulled to his feet by Nightwing. In the background, he could hear talking. Shocked gasps. He began to wonder just how long he had been blindly laying into the four men before him. How many people had seen? He could vaguely remember the sound of his two vigilante companions yelling at him. Were they telling him to stop?

He could only shake his head at the horrific mess he had created for no reason other than his own blind emotions. Yet, he had been so sure that he was back at South Side. He could have sworn he saw Kalinsky's men. He could even feel the gravel...

He jumped when a heavy hand rested on his shoulder. Sure enough, as he followed the hand along the wrist and up the arm, he saw that it belonged to Commissioner Gordon.

"They're gonna take them down to the hospital, and then over to the station later. They are the drug-pushers we were looking for, but...I gotta say, Batman." Gordon lowered his voice. "You could face an unwarranted brutality charge. Not that I think they will..."

"I...I didn't realise I was having a flashback." He said, with a voice on the borderline of faltering.

Gordon merely squeezed the Batman's shoulder and nodded. He knew. Of course he knew.

But Robin and Nightwing? He looked over to them. A deep regret flooded his heart as he saw their worried faces. He turned back to Gordon, who held out a small piece of torn notepaper. On it was hastily scribbled a number.

"Its a counselor friend of mine. Completely anonymous. I think you need to do something, before this-" He indicates the mess before them, "Happens again."

Batman only nods and accepts the paper. Then silently, with only an apologetic glance at his two wards, co-operatively joined Gordon in his police car.

It was going to be a long night of cross-checking and report writing. Batman could only hope that it would be the end of it all. He refused to allow himself to put anyone at risk, not for the foreseeable future. Never again.

Bruce Wayne was going to put away the cowl. For good.


	10. What Is Reality?

The three of them sat together in the Batcave, faces painted by their grim emotions. Jason, especially, held a darkened expression relieved only by the occasional glimpse of confusion showing through. Dick held his forehead in one hand, resting his elbow across his other arm. He looked up at Barbara, who sat shaking her head slowly. She was the first to speak.

"To be honest, guys, it sounds like PTSD."

Dick sighed and looked down at the young man beside him, who only frowned in response. Just as they had thought.

"I don't know what could have caused it. It must have been serious..." Dick said.

"-and it must have been just before he took all that time off." Added Jason.

Barbara sighed, leaning forward to rest her lips against folded hands.

"Whatever it was," She said, "It must have been really confronting. Poor Bruce. I don't know what I would have done if something so _horrifically_ traumatic happened to me, I mean..." she sat back up and looked at the other two with a sad, sympathetic expression. "It's not like he, or we, haven't experienced some rotten stuff before. But for it to have this sort of effect on him...you'd almost think..." She trailed off. She didn't want to think about horrendous atrocities that she'd read about. Situations where people's lives had been torn apart by Post-traumatic stress. Even driven to suicide.

They sat in silence for a long while,  each eventually moving off into their own private spaces to dwell on thoughts left unspoken.

Only one person remained in the darkness of that cave, waiting anxiously. Pain constricting in his chest, but face ever stoic. He waited. He would be there when Batman returned. He always had, and as long as he could function under his own will, he always would.

In time, the man arrived. It was just on dawn. He stepped out of his vehicle, and in his shoulders Alfred saw despair so deep,  he had not seen the like of it's weight on Bruce in twenty-five years. Not since the night police officers brought home a young boy, blood splattered in dried black dots on his coat. That had been the first time in either man's memory that one had embraced the other. It had not occurred since. Now, it had been long since the mask and the man had merged. Long since that man was an orphaned child, uncertain of his future. Long since that one and only embrace.

Until tonight.

It was wordless. Unmentioned. It had only taken an instant. Batman walked up to his butler. He stood before him and removed his cowl. Somewhere- in between the removal of his cowl and it's soft thud upon the floor, Alfred had seen enough in Bruce's eyes to do what he did wordlessly, without warning and without regret.

He held him.

Bruce did not shudder. For once he did not gasp, or flinch. He wanted this touch. He did not move. He stood there, resting on the support of the closest thing he had to a father. Years of unsaid words passing through in such a fundamental form of contact. It was not a solid embrace. It was just there. Enough, but not too much. It was comforting and it was only moments. Neither would indulge in a lengthy embrace. It was not the style of either man. Alfred slowly let go, and Bruce stood dejectedly. He spoke only two words.

"It's over." He said.

"I know." Alfred replied.

And it was all that was said by either man for the rest of the day.

_Elsewhere_

Commissioner Jim Gordon fumbled with the keys to his door. His house was silent, it was roughly five a.m. He could feel the shift in the temperature as dawn approached, but for now it was still dark. He headed up the stairs, hoping to get in at least 2 or 3 hours sleep before he had to be up and back at the station. He was almost tempted to stay at the station and sleep in one of the ready-rooms,but in the end the desire to fall into his own bed-next to his own wife, won over. He climbed the stairs, removing his clothes- not even bothering to change into normal sleeping attire (what's the point?). Sarah Essen, his younger, second wife who served with him on his own force- awoke to the rustling.

"Jim?" She asked, half asleep, "D'jou just get in?"

He whispered a quiet yes, and told her to go back to sleep. She had been there late last night, of course, when Batman had accompanied Gordon into his office. Where at first she had heard the soft, sympathetic tones of her husband, something few people heard- and the steady, reasonable tones of both men break into loud shouts, interspersed with utterances like "No, it's not OK!" or "This can't keep happening- for your sake and others!". There was even one moment where she heard what she thought sounded like a sob- but wasn't sure. Whoever did it didn't make that sound again- but whatever had gone down- it was intense. They were still going when she clocked out for the night. She had thought of waiting around for her husband, but when it became apparent that whatever he and Batman were _discussing_ , it was probably going to take a while.

"What happened?" She asked, as she became more awake. Gordon was starting to re-consider his decision to come home.

"I'll tell you in the morning." He said.

"It's morning now."

Sure enough, the grey light of pre-sunrise had begun to fill the room. Gordon groaned and rolled over to face his wife, but eyes still shut, hoping to get the message of his sleep-deprived state across. He spoke.

"Batman quit."

Sarah balked. Had she heard right? Although she never actually approved of Batman's vigilantism, or her husband's association with it-she still had to admit. The guy was good.

"Why? Because of last night?"

"Its a long story, Sarah, but to put it short-the guy is remorseful about what happened last night. There's been something that he's been ignoring, and now his emotions are getting in the way. He let them get out of control. Instead of doing something about it, he quit."

"Maybe quitting was his way of "doing something about it.", Jim." Sarah suggested.

Gordon shook his head.

"No. It's not like him- and its not like him to ignore what's blatantly obvious. I can't say anything specific, but I know why he's been acting the way he is, and I know that he's avoiding the situation."

Sarah nodded.

"What's the situation with the detainees from last night?" She said, with a yawn. Gordon grumbled something about "wasn't gonna sleep anyway" and sat up. He grabbed his glasses off the side-table and put them on.

"Four broken ribs, two arms, one with a cracked jaw. Plenty of stitches for everyone and concussions all round-"

Sarah cut him off "I meant the charges."

"Oh." He continued. "They're the ones we were looking for. They aren't gonna charge the Bat. They know that by admitting that, they'll only have to provide an alibi for _why_ they were where they were, _when_ they were." He sighed, getting out of bed. Sarah reached out and grabbed his arm, pulling him back into the bed.

"No, you sleep. I'll sign you a late slip. No one'll notice."

Gordon chuckled. "The commissioner will."

She leaned over and gave him a kiss. It was the long, lingering kind that always made him feel better.

"We'll have to find a way to distract him, then." She said, ending the kiss with a playful twinkle in her eye. She rolled back over to her side and climbed out of bed, winking at him as she went to prepare for another day of duty at the GCPD. He was so glad he had her. The darkest hours of his life would be like a mere shadow, so long as he had her.

_Meanwhile, at the Ha-Hacienda_

The Joker paced back and forth before his _dependable_ henchmen and woman. It was the third day of what he had titled " _Operation BRING ME MY GOD-DAMN BAT BACK_ " and so far, they had not made any advances. Harley sighed and flopped back on the couch melodramatically.

"I _tried_ getting a hold of Charlie at the GCPD, but all he went on about was this new "DNA trace technology."

One of the henchmen went to speak, but hesitated. He had hoped it went un-noticed, but he realised with a sinking feeling that all eyes were now on him. Especially the deep, leering glare of the Joker.

" _Keep going_." Said the clown, -a thousand un-spoken threats dripping over every syllable.

The henchman gulped. "I, uh...I heard from Henley that he... quit."

Uh-oh.

" _WHAT_!"

Harley and the boys could swear they felt the angered spittle land on them from over three feet away. Joker's eyes bulged from their sockets, and the veins on his neck began pumping violently.

"LIAR! This is NO time for _jokes_." Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small canister. Every other person in the room jumped, pounced and otherwise catapaulted from their sitting positions and ran for whatever shelter they could find. Bursting into manic laughter, the Joker threw the can. It smashed against the same wall that Harley's closet opened out onto. As it did, billows of putrid sulfur-smelling smoke burst from within. A stink bomb- nothing but a stink bomb! However, the force of the strike, plus the force with which the can exploded caused the walls to shake. Joker never did anything half-way, that was certain. Of course, that didn't always go for thinking his impulsive actions through. From inside the closet, the sound of shattering glass alerted everyone's attention.

Uh-oh. The _real_ uh-oh.

Everyone looked worried. Even the Joker had a semi-fearful expression on his features, much like a child who awaited the retribution of a mother after breaking her favorite vase in childish play. His head darted almost comically between the closet and over to where Harley stood, her face painted with a mixture of anxiety and soul-simmering anger. She ran over to the door, breathing coming in audible emotionally pained gasps- she flung the door open, and although her body blocked his view, the Joker knew very well what was spilled over the floor in that room. Slamming the door, Harley turned to face him. Silently glaring for a few seconds. Then, with a deep, painful gasp of air, she evoked the most haunting, violent, blood-curdling scream of anguish he had _ever_ heard. _Ever._

"Harley, _baby_..." He said, hands held up palm forward before him, hoping to distill the rage that was directed at him.

"Don't you _dare_ use _that_ word with me!" She responded, voice dangerously low. She grabbed a giant mallet that had been resting on the floor and ran at the Joker, screaming as she swung the giant weapon back and forth. He glanced at the two men staring at the scene.

"DO SOMETHING!" He ordered, and they hesitated briefly before jumping into action, grabbing Harley around the middle as she struggled against their grip. She managed to get a few good blows at them, too, before the Joker came up and slapped her. More than a slap, indeed- the punch he slugged into her jaw was enough to nearly knock the distressed woman out. She went limp.

"Drop her." He told them. They did. She collapsed to the floor, a broken woman. Her anger replaced only with heaving sobs. The Joker nudged her with his foot.

"There there." He said, in mock-sympathetic tones. "You had to let it go sometime, pookie. Now or never eh? Why," he said, as he lifted her bruising chin up with the toe of his shoe, "I've done you a _favor._ " He immediately pulled his foot out from beneath her, and she let her head drop to the ground. She sniffed, and wimpered something which the Joker only barely heard.

"Louder, babe. I can bearly hear you over the ringing in my ears." He said, referring to the screams of moments before.

" _Sorry,_ Puddin." She said, more loudly this time, through the lisp that resulted from her now swelling tongue. It seemed her tongue must have been caught in between her bottom and top teeth as Joker slugged her.

"It's _my_ fault. I shouldn't have made you angry." She said, sincerely believing it.

Neither seemed to recognise that it hadn't been her at all. The henchman at "fault" breathed a silent sigh of relief when the Joker dismissed him, news of Batman quite forgotten.

"Now, get up. That's a good girl." Said the Joker to Harley, even stooping to help the aching girl up. "Go clean up that _mess_ will you. Then you can sleep in my bed tonight. Won't that be nice?"

She flinched at his use of the word "mess" but nodded, a small smile creeping upon her bleeding lip. She felt like she had won something, even though the reality of the situation was far from it.

But reality wasn't really her forte, these days.


	11. The Cape and Cowl Conspiracy

It was surreal...how it all fell into place. Batman had no sooner given up his cowl than found himself back on the street, seeking out the one who had stolen his mantle from him. The one who ripped more than flesh when he tore through Batman's senses- with the blinding pain and the pungent stench. Laughing at the man who had been forced to the ground beneath him, sprawled humiliatingly over the asphalt- the sting of which still registered in Bruce's mind.

But not now.

Batman was standing face to face with Nells Kalinsky, otherwise known as Sweets, the drug dealer and panderer responsible for numerous atrocities committed in the South Side district of Gotham city. Batman had been praying for a moment like this. It was sweet retribution. His turn to show Kalinsky just how powerful he truly was.

Batman lunged at him, ready to swing a punch. But suddenly, he found himself back within Kalinsky's grip, and all the force in the world could not break it. He flinched as the dark-haired man leaned down towards his face, putrid heat crushing against his ear as Kalinsky whispered.

"Hello _darling_. I _missed_ you."

_Nooooooooo!_

Bruce woke with a start. His breath came in rapid pants, but slowed down as his surroundings became clearer. He flopped back against his pillows and breathed a shuddering sigh of relief. Only a dream.

But still,it was terrifyingly realistic. He rolled over, and winced as his chest hit the mattress. His chest was beginning to worry him. It had been several months, and although he wasn't so certain at first, it had become clearer to him that there was a level of swelling going on there that wasn't going away. It was becoming a real concern. Actually, a lot of things had. It was another thing to add to his growing list of health issues. From a mysterious stomach bug that lasted weeks- only recently abated- to the chest issues- and in recent weeks, a disconcerting sensation he could only describe as butterflies, only- without the accompanying sense of nervousness.

It worried him enough to begin taking blood samples in order to screen himself for sexually transmitted diseases.

_Gotham City Police Depar_ _tment_

The sergeant stood to attention before Commisioner Gordon, trying his best to maintain his compsure as the latter man gave him what was so far, the most strenuous and painful verbal strip-down of his entire career. No, make that life.

"I'm _REALLY_ struggling to understand how the equipment got away while you were _supposedly_ in the room with it the whole time!" Gordon exclaimed.

He was referring, of course, to the brand-new DNA Materials Trace program that had just been installed at the GCPD. It had taken months for theirs to arrive. It was going to be the key between having the right to detain criminals and leaving them run lose. One individual's DNA could be traced everywhere he or she had come into contact with one of the input pads, which were clear patches of varying size created from advanced technology. Practically invisible to the eye and intangible to the touch. The program itself was similar to the fingerprint database, only it held genetic information, and the input pads could also be distributed throughout the city. This would mean worlds of good when tracing a criminal.

If only they still had the equipment.

"It wasn't my fault!" Yelled the sergeant in response to his interrogation.

"Oh?" Replied Gordon, menacingly. "Then whose is it?"

"The clown girl!" He said. "She came in and bashed me over the head with a rubber chicken! It must've had something heavy in it- but when I came to- and I swear it was barely ten seconds- the stuff was gone!"

"And how did she KNOW it was there?"

But the sergeant could not answer. Gordon didn't know if it was because he was defending himself or someone else, or that he genuinely didn't know. What he did know was that the equipment was now in the hands of Harley Quinn, and whatever made it to her hands also made it to the Joker's.

And that was not a pleasant thought at all.

_The Ha-Hacienda_

Harley was highly intrigued by the equipment. She recalled the days, years ago now, when she had been a college student sitting in her science lectures learning about genetics, blood and how it all came down to DNA. The moment she had learned about this particular piece of technology she had wanted it for herself. Well, not true entirely. She had wanted to please the Joker. However, he had been less then impressed when she brought it home. The smile was quickly wiped from her face. But that was ok, she thought, as she held a hand to her hot, bruised cheek. He just didn't _get_ it yet. He would when she brought the Batman home.

Yes. That was the precise reason she had been so deeply interested in the DNA trace technology. She smiled to herself as she pictured her triumphant return to the hideout: A knocked-out Batman gift-wrapped in a pretty red bow for her favorite clown of crime!

She opened a small plastic case sitting on the table and pulled out a small synthetic skin-patch. It was transparent-barely visible. She only knew it was there because the moment she touched it (gloved hand, no duh) the machine began to make noise. Upon the screen, where the program would normally be decoding the information and storing the DNA data, it only read "Input Error. Non Organic Entry" and instead began listing the components of her glove. She squeaked in surprise and immediately pulled the tab off, tapping the "cancel" button at the same time. She made a mental note to make new gloves.

She smiled again as she looked at the tab, now lying back on the table. All they needed was to stick the pad on the old Dork Knight, and wherever he went, they would gladly follow.

It was so easy! She laughed.

_Wayne Manor/The Batcave_

Dick was sitting on one of the swivel chairs, perfectly still. He looked down at the black cowl that was clenched firmly in his fist. The knuckles of which had gone white with the intensity of his grip. He relaxed them slightly.

"Dick..." Bruce was sitting down on another chair in front of Dick. His face was grim. Almost pained, but determined.

"I...I don't know, Bruce." Answered Dick. "I've done so much with Nightwing..."

"Its just until something more permanent is sorted out. You won't be Batman forever..."

Dick took a deep intake of breath and sighed. He understood the significance of what Bruce asked. It was important that the symbol of Batman did not disappear from Gotham. It was a symbol that struck fear into the hearts of criminals. Urban legend to many, but revered nonetheless. Batman had to continue, even if Bruce did not.

"...does this mean you don't think you're coming back?" He asked, not daring to look up at the man who had inspired him for so many years.

"I don't think so."

Dick sighed.

"I'll do it- but just...temporarily."

Bruce looked relieved. Dick hadn't realised just how much tension the former Batman was experiencing over it. He knew that there was something that was stopping him from taking on Gotham's worst, but that it was not the end of his vow. His vow would never die- and Dick admired that. He could only hope that Batma- no, just Bruce now. He could only hope that Bruce did not expect to fulfil his vows through Dick till the end. Dick wanted to help, desperately so, but he did not want to give himself up to do it forever. He was not Bruce. If that did happen- well. Dick knew what would happen. A repeat of what lead him to become Nightwing in the first place.

No, for now, he was wearing Batman's mask, but that was as far as it would go. He would not become Batman. Batman was the man before him. No level of retirement- or...God forbid... mortality- would ever stop that. Bruce Wayne was Batman. Batman was Bruce Wayne. Not the Bruce Wayne that everyone else saw, of course- the partying billionaire palyboy with more girls than brains. That Bruce Wayne was just as much a mask- if not more so- than the Dick held in his hands at that moment.

He stood to leave, and none too soon. It was that moment precisely that the ring of the Batphone alerted both of them. Bruce decided he'd pick it up one last time.

"Commissioner?- Don't get exited. Batman will be there shortly."

Bruce paused to hear the response from the other end of the line.

"Gotham needs Batman. Nightwing will be taking that role from now on..." Another pause. "Yes, I have made up my mind. This is goodbye, commissioner."

Then he hung up. Dick looked from Bruce to the mask he held in his own hands and then back up to Bruce.

"This is it then."

And he left.


	12. I've Got Batman in My Basement

Nightwing - as Batman, and his new sidekick Robin were on the case. They knew who they were looking for. Harley Quinn, of course, and so far, the chase had been easy going.

 _Too_ easy, Dick thought to himself as they found yet _another_ person who had seen where Quinn had run off to. Nightwing didn't like it at all. He was tempted to halt the proceedings, but decided instead to take a different approach. He stopped and turned to Robin.

"This doesn't feel right." He said. Although he hadn't meant it at the time, as soon as he said the words, he wasn't sure if he was now referring to the chase itself, or himself parading as Batman.

"I agree." Replied Robin. "This is too easy."

They stood and watched their surroundings, suddenly feeling very exposed. Nightwing leant down and whispered into his communicator, linked with Robin.

_"Go up onto the roof and down several blocks. When I approach from the front, you come in from the side. Just in case."_

Robin nodded and used his grapple-hook to leap up onto the roof, instantly landing into an easy run, off down the rooftops of Gotham. Nightwing continued along the direction that he had been informed of by the last bystander. He came to a cross-way between back-alleys, it was empty except for a small jack-in-the-box right in the middle of the road.

 _A-ha_ He thought to himself-and knowing better than to approach it directly, he activated the scanners located within the lenses of the kevlar-woven Batman cowl.

Instantly, files and files of data began streaming before his eyes. According to it, the box was a simple toy. No dangerous traces of gas, or explosives or anything that could be posed as a threat. He assumed there was a note in the box awaiting him. He walked over to the box, marvelling at the efficiency of the scanning technology in the cowl. He knew that the first thing he would do when he returned to the cave would be to commission one for his own Nightwing suit. He didn't plan on being Batman for long, afterall.

He bent down to the box and began to wind it, letting it play the tune being rock-a-bye-baby.He even hummed with it. He knew exactly where it would pop, afterall. He was not too absorbed to notice the dark figure creeping in the shadows of the alleys leading up to the crossway where he stood. He prepared to turn to them, to prepare for their attack. However, as the melody arrived at "down will come baby, cradle and -" , Nightwing suddenly found himself plunging into darkness. First by the hessian bag that was now over his head, secondly by the powerful and painful thwack to his skull by some large and heavy object. He fell to the ground, in a heap at the feet of a large thug. The man he had NOT seen held a phone to his ear. 

"Hey, Harley- I got 'em!"

He could hardly believe his own luck. He had caught the _actual_ Batman!

Or so he thought.

_Wayne Manor/The Batcave_

Bruce Wayne was getting frustrated. The blood scans were taking their time, and from what he could see so far- completely negative. The only thing he could see was heightened estrogen levels. He supposed that explained the steady development of his breast tissue. It was now entering the extremely concerning territory.

Although he knew that he did not own a prostate, he knew that heightened estrogen levels in males was often an indicator of several varieties of cancer, and it enough to warrant his attention.

He wondered if it had anything to do with what had occurred months before. He had to research. He sat down at the monitor and began tapping away at the keys:

_Trauma and heightened estrogen levels._

But the only results were detailing cases of female assault. He re-phrased his query

_Cancer, rectal trauma. Assault._

However, he slammed the monitor shut when Barbara suddenly walked into the room. Well, that wasn't true. She had made herself _known_. Bruce knew as well as she did that she could hide herself if she wanted. Yes, even from Bruce. 

He also knew that she had seen what was written on the screen.

He didn't look up at her, but he registered her presence moving beside him, resting a tentative hand on his forearm.

"I...I thought that maybe something had happened..." She said.

Bruce chuckled cynically. _Of course_ He thought to himself. He knew that any pretense of secrecy he may have had would only be true so far as everyone _pretended_ they didn't know.

"...Do the others...?" He asked, still not looking.

"No one has said anything." She replied. "But maybe you should."

Bruce shook his head.

"I've dealt with it." He said. He stood, preparing to leave his research behind until sometime when he could do it in private.

"What was that about cancer?"

He turned to look at Barbara for the first time since the start of their little interchange. Her chest was heaving slightly, and he could see her eyes, shimmering in their wetness- staring at him, unblinkingly. Two drops managed to escape.

"It...it's probably nothing. I just..."

She walked up to him, shaking her head slowly.

"Don't say that. It's not _nothing_." She continued shaking her head in disbelief. Her voice was rising as she struggled to control her emotions. "Nothing! Fine! Ok!" She snapped, looking back at him.

"You've been saying that for months! You've been dealing with this secretly for _months_! You've been _lying_ about this for months!" She grabbed him by the arms, searching deep into his eyes. He had to force himself to breathe. He knew he could trust Barbara, but the contact was still difficult.

"Please. _Talk_ to me." She begged.

He exhaled, the ghost of a smile playing on the edge of his lips.

"You and you're father are peas in a-"

"Dad knows?"

Bruce paused.

"He was the first...he." He shook his head. "It doesn't matter.". But Barbara pushed him. She softened her grip, and raised her hands to his shoulders. Nodding ferociously, tears spilling out freely.

"Yes" she said, voice thick, cracking with the emotion. "Yes it _does_ matter. You haven't spoken to anyone about this yet, have you?" He doesn't say anything, so she shakes him to elicit a response. He shakes his head.

"No." He said. "and that's because I don't need to-" He pushed past her, intending to make for the exit through which he could leave the Batcave and return to his suite...but he paused-suddenly overcome by a wave of dizziness. Gripping his forehead, he slowly stood back up, attempting to re-center himself.

"Bruce?" He heard Barbara's voice coming from somewhere far off, and he meant to respond. He began to tell her that he just felt a little dizzy, but found the room swirling about him too distracting, he reached forward to place a steadying hand on a shelf, or chair- or something. Then everything went black.

_Ha-Hacienda_

Harley was exited. She had found the Batman and it had been the easiest, basic, most efficient capture. Ever! It made her burst with giddy laughter. Mister J hadalways said that the funniest jokes were the ones with the simplest punchline- and _boy_ was this simple! The Batman himself, stumped by a normal toybox, thieved from a normal toystore.

She laughed all the way to the holding room, where she knew Batman was sitting, just waiting for her to come and gloat over her most brilliant-minded victory yet. She was laughing even as she turned the knob, opening the door where before her sat the tied up bundle of...

A stream of angered curses could be heard all the way down the street.

Back in the holding cell, Harley pounced upon the restrained form of Nightwing- still dressed as Batman of course. She began shaking him.

"What've you done with the real Batman, you fake, lying little freak!"

Nightwing smirked. "I'd be careful what words we throw around, Harley. Someone might think you're running a self-description."

She stopped, mouth agape, eyes rendering their recognition. She stood and threw a strong, painful kick into his side.

"It's _YOU_. The side" _THUD "_ kick!"

"I'm not his sidekick..."

 _"YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN, FAKER_!"

She turned and paced angrily, muttering to herself. Maniacally, even. Nightwing would have found it comical if he wasn't already so well aware of the sorts of acts Harley Quinn was capable of, Joker or no Joker. She stopped pacing and turned to face him. Suddenly, she burst into laughter again.

"He'll come for you."

"What makes you so sure?"

"He's Batman. That's why!"

Nightwing decided to let her hold onto her little delusion, figuring it would buy him more time. He wasn't so sure if the Batman would turn up...but in the event that did occur, he wanted to be in well enough shape to help fight back.

_Wayne Manor_

Bruce came to, his feet propped up on pillows. He knew that he was still in the Batcave. Sitting beside him on the ground were Barbara, Alfred and Jason- still dressed as Robin. He sat up, Alfred supporting his back as he did so.

"How long have I been out?" He asked.

"Not long, barely even a minute." Alfred replied. "Master Jason arrived just as you "hit the deck" as it were."

He made to stand, noticing with disdain the presence of "butterflies" again. Only this time, stronger. He placed a hand over his stomach to try and settle them. He looked to Barbara who seemed to be gazing at his hand with a furrowed brow. She broke the gaze and shook her head, returning to a standing position herself. Bruce looked from her to Robin, and then around the room.

"Dick not back yet?"

Jason shook his head.

"No. Joker got him-WOAH" Jason felt himself lift of the ground with a sudden whush as Bruce grasped him firmly by the shoulders.

"What do you _mean_ "Joker got him"?...He's not...is he?"

Jason shook his head bewilderdly "No...no, I meant captured. That's all!"  
  
It occurred to Bruce that he had acted extremely impulsively and put Jason back down, patting his shoulder as he did so. As suddenly as he had been enveloped in that burning ferocity, he found himself swamped with a deep and inexplicable desire to curl up and...but he shook the thoughts away. He could even feel the heat creeping into his cheeks and the beginning sting of wetness in his eyes. He shook his head again and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his index and thumb. His moods were getting out of hand.

But that had to wait.

"We have to find him." Said Bruce, reaching for a spare Batman cowl.

Jason beamed, but Barbara looked hesitant.

"Maybe you should stay here..."

But he didn't hear her. He left to change and arrived back within the minute- the speed of his suit-donning having been worked down to an art over the years he had practiced it. Barbara was now Batgirl, and Jason was of course, still Robin.

Batman turned to Batgirl.

"Nightwing was on the case of the stolen DNA Trace Technology. Its possible that, if he is in the Joker's possesion, then so will the technology, seeing as it was stolen by Harley Quinn."

Batgirl nodded slowly. "What if she isn't in league with him. Everyone knows that she hooks up with Poison Ivy when things are sour with the Joker."

Batman sighed. Robin, meanwhile, was over at Batgirl's own edition of the trace technology. He flicked a switch, and found the data input relating to Dick Grayson, tapping the appropriate information into the computer. A bright red light immediately began blipping on an area of the giant map that everyone immediately recognised as an abandoned warehouse district.

Batgirl broke into a grin. "I can't believe I didn't think of that, great idea Jay!"

They were all about to move off, when Batman turned back to them.

"When we get to the warehouse, I go in alone. You two will wait outside till backup arrives. Its Joker's hideout, afterall. Its liable to be rigged up with explosions and poisons from here to kingdom come."

Although both knew they would completely disregard his orders on arrival, Batgirl and Robin nodded anyway. Batman stalked off to the Batmobile, oblivious to the intense scrutiny of Batgirl as he did so. She could see that there was something strange going on. The mental mainframe began working triple-time. She was going to figure it out, and she already had a lead of her own.

But that would wait until after they rescued Nightwing.

 

 


	13. POV

_Abandoned Warehouse, East Gotham_

Batman, Batgirl and Robin arrived outside the shell of what used to be a working factory, long since closed down. The three of them waited in shadows, analysing the situation. At length, Batman spoke.

"I'm going in. You two wait here." He stood to leave, tapping his cowl in the spot where his ear was located. "You'll be able to hear everything I hear."

Batgirl and Robin cast uneasy looks towards each other.

"What?" Demanded Batman.

Batgirl walked over to Bruce, talking in hushed tones.

"Are you so sure you're up to this, Batman?"

"Of course I am." Snapped Batman, already walking off. He got about eight feet when he stopped and turned back to face them, one finger pointed threateningly.

-"and don't either of you _dare_ follow me in. If I need you're help, I'll call for it."

He wasn't sure if he heard correctly, but as he turned to continue on his way, he could have sworn he heard the subdued tone of Batgirl whispering something about " _Can't be so sure anymore"_ to Robin. He felt a slight pang for the lack of trust his partners had been demonstrating, but he knew that he had to do what he had to do. He was certain that he was doing the right thing.  
  
 _Whether it's this now or..._  he wasn't so sure if he was referring to his immediate decision of rescuing Nightwing alone, or the... _other_ thing. Things. Once again, the strange, foreign fluttering sensation returned. He tried to force it back down, but it seemed to be acting of it's own accord. He decided to ignore it, at least until the current situation was resolved.

He wondered if he was about to enter the actual (current) hideout of the Joker, or if he was being lead into another trap. It didn't matter, either way. He knew that he had to go in and find Nightwing. He felt somewhat responsible, after all. It may have well been him who was supposed to be in there instead of Dick. His heart sank when he thought about how the younger man must felt, when he asked him to put away his Nightwing persona and take up his Batman mantle. He resolved to never put Dick in such a position again.

He slipped into a side-door, tapping into the communication system.

"I'm inside. Batgirl- I need Nightwing's co-ordinates" He whispered.

" _He's at the very back. North-east corner. There are five rooms up on the top floor, and he's in the third one. Right in the middle"_

Batman whispered a quick thanks and proceeded to head for the specified location. He gathered speed as his vision locked on the stairs he had been looking for.

"I can see the stairs" He whispered, knowing Batgirl and Robin could hear him from outside. He reached them, scaling them in a matter of seconds. He was surprised to find himself slightly out of breath when he reached the top. _Of course_ , he realised after a second thought, it made perfect sense for him to be out of shape. He had been out of action for some time, and his health problems were probably affecting him more deeply than he thought. He pushed it out of his mind, the rising anxiety not doing him any favours at that particular point.

He reached the door and crouched against it, listening closely for any noise that could indicate what was going on inside. He could hear nothing. He decided not to test the handle, in case it was locked- which would only alert whoever was inside, giving them a moment's preparation- and moments counted. Instead, he reached into his utility belt and pulled out his new grappling hook. Using it as a hammer, he smashed it down on the handle, breaking it clear off the door. He then pushed the door open with barely any effort at all, waiting a second before he went in himself.

No-one. The only occupant of the room was a tiny clown-doll, sitting tied to a chair with a small stick-it note attached to it's stomach. He contacted Batgirl.

"There's no-one in here. Just a clown-doll."

" _The tracer reads Nightwing's DNA for that location."_

"In the room itself or what?"

" _According to the sensor, it reads him to be at a depth of 3 feet from the door, 4 feet from the sides, 3 feet from the back."_

Batman calculated the dimensions, and as he did, a sickened feeling crept through his gut. It wasn't the same nausea he had been experiencing for the previous weeks. That had been physical. Part of his illness. This feeling was pure dread.

The clown doll.

He took a tentative step towards it, before dropping all hesitation, he reached out and grabbed it. He almost expected it to be heavy with the weight of some _part_ of his most trusted partner. He knew exactly what the Joker was capable of. He'd seen the sick remnants of his "games" before.

But he couldn't see, or feel, anything other than material. He held it up, hoping his visor would get a better reading. Sure enough, right in the middle of the doll's head there rested a small square patch, which although wasn't visible to the naked eye, glowed faintly in response to the energy being transmitted from the scanner.

"Its not him." Said Batman. "They planted a trace scan pad. Nightwing could be _anywhere_..."

 _"Oh god-"_ Began Batgirl, but Batman shushed her, his attention piqued by the approaching presence of another human in the vicinity. He turned to see Harley Quinn, beaming in absolute evil rapture.

"Jeez, what is it with you _Batmans_ and you're pre-occupation with _toys_." She said with a sneer. "That's two Batman's today- and all it took was a couple'a old playthings I found lying around."

From the room next door, he heard raucous laughter. Laughter he recognised instantly. Into the room burst a guffawing Joker, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes.

"A Batman in the hand is worth two in the wood! Only this time- we've got the two, and the wood's got none! Oh this is _sweet_ "

Harley joined in with his side-splitting snickering for a few moments before she snapped her attention back to the Bat before her, worried he may have already found a way to escape. Only- he hadn't.

He was staring at the Joker, his face wearing an intense expression. She wondered what his eyes were doing beneath the cowl, but found enough to read in his body language. It was a favorite past-time of hers,actually. One she had learned a long time ago in her psychology classes. She was so engaged in her activity that she barely even noticed the Joker approaching him with a menacing expression plastered over his chalk-white face.

"What are you _staring_ at? Don't think my joke's funny, do you?" He grabs the wooden chair and breaks off a leg, a crooked nail jutting out of the end, and he began swinging it at the Batman as he rushed towards him.

"Batter up, eh, Batsy?" He swung, weapon digging into the glove of Batman's outstretched arm. Batman was breathing rapidly, trembling in...what she could only interperet as being anger...or _fear?_

He cried out suddenly, and the Joker was only spurned on by it, giddily swinging the bat around, hoping for it to land somewhere _funny_ on the crusader fighting him back- but he was disappointed to find Batman merely crouching on the floor, curled into himself.

"GET OUT" He cried. The Joker only scoffed. No one told _him_ to get out. Not when it was _his_ newly discovered abandoned ware-house. He strolled up to the man on the floor, tapping him with his foot. This only made the Batman more- what _was_ going on here? He wondered.

Harley, meanwhile, had been reading the situation loud and clear. She could see what was happening.

"He don't think its you, puddin'. Ain't you he's cowerin' from."

The Joker turned towards her.

"What the dickens are you harping on about _now_ , you stupid girl?"

Harley stood and walked over to the Batman, crouching beside him. She spoke, speaking in a soft, re-assuring tone.

"Batman."

No response.

"Where are you, Batman?"

He didn't even register her presence, despite the fact he could see her, right where she was. It wasn't like Batman. She turned to look up at the clown.

"He's havin' a flashback. Post-traumatic stress syndrome." She felt momentarily pleased with herself, but a thwack from the "friendly end" of the Joker's bat set her back on track. She could hear the distressed voices of Batgirl calling out of Batman's end of the communication link.

" _Batman? What's happening. Robin and I are on our way!"_

Harley leaned down and spoke into Batman's ear- guessing it to be the location of the microphone.

"Sorry, Carrot-top. B-man's not well. We're checkin' him into the mental health clinic."

With that, a now fuming Joker sniffed as he thudded Batman once more with his shoe. He pulled out a small jar from his coat, in which sat a rag. He undid the jar and held it up to Batman's nose. He wondered if it was worth asking him whether or not it "smelled of choloroform" as he often enjoyed when knocking out guests in this way. He supposed it wouldn't be as fun with Batsy obviously "elsewhere". Incapable of responding with some witty retort. He held the cloth to Batman's nose, who then began bucking and resisting violently. Harley jumped in and whacked him behind the head with the bat, knocking him out cold. The Joker pulled out a small remote and with the click of a button, a secret floor opened. With the strength of Joker's thugs, Batman was dragged inside. The floor lead to a passage way, which lead to an opening outside. Once there, they loaded him into a waiting escape vehicle and sped off.

All of this had happened in moments, and it was still only moments later that Batgirl and Robin dashed into the room.

"Damn it" Cursed Robin, kicking the remnants of the wooden chair out of the way.

Batgirl could only stare forlornly at the clown doll she now had in her hands. She traced a finger over the trace-pad that held the DNA of Nightwing. She looked down at the stick-it note, which cryptically read  
  
"Had a lot of fun. In fact, one might call it _super_. Off on a holiday for a while. Don't know when I'll be back.

-Love Night-fling"

Of course she knew it wasn't his. It wasn't his handwriting to begin with.

Still. Wherever he was, it wasn't anywhere closer to her.

Now they were both missing.

_Meanwhile, on the road to somewhere else_

Dick groaned as he came to his senses, he tried to feel the back of his head where he had last recalled a giant brick-laden object coming into contact with it at great speed. He noted too, that he was distinctly groggy and guessed he had been drugged as well. Not knowing exactly how long he may have ben out, he was certain that hours, at the very least, had passed. He shuffled about to try and determine where he was. It didn't take long for him to come into contact with a wall- no wait. It wasn't a wall. It was just a side. A wall of...wood. He kicked his legs out, and sure enough, they too came into contact with another side of wood.

So he was in a crate.

He listened for sounds. He could hear the click- clacking of trains on a track. A high-speed train on a track.

 _Great!_ He exclaimed inwardly. _"Nightwing's been night-mailed to goodness knows where!"_

A burst of pain through his skull reminded him that he may be more injured than he could b sure of, so he attempted to settle into what he knew was going to be a long night.

_Back at the Ha-Hacienda_

Batman was still out cold. Joker was not happy.

"What's wrong with him?" He demanded, for the tenth time. His memory was a rather fickle thing. He had to reinvent his history almost daily, sometimes.

Harley was happy to be in her element. Psychology was her area of expertise, afterall. Joker had his engineering skills (so he said). Two-Face had his political career. Even her precious best friend Ivy had a career in biochemistry to back her up. All Harley thought she had was her good looks and gym skills. She didn't often get a chance to play with her old psychology skills because the Joker seemed to dislike anything that reminded him of Arkham.

But now, it was finally going to be of use to her man.

"I want him _better_ , Harley. I want to stir him up. I want to be the one to have driven him crazy! It's _my_ game!" He stalked up to her with  a raised and menacing fist.

"Fix him, Harley. And don't make a mess of it like everything else you do."

She nodded eagerly. She didn't intend to.

This was going to be her moment to shine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews are life! I'd love to know what you think!


	14. Heart of Steel pt 1

Robin watched Batgirl. She was half standing out of her chair, frantically punching data into her computer. She paused for a few seconds to read the information that began spilling down the screen. Obviously it wasn't what she had wanted to read, because she slammed her fist hard onto the desk and cursed.

"It should be able to locate him from his cowl!" She said, voice pitching higher and higher in her frustration. "They must have something with them thats confusing the transmission. Damn it! I thought this would work!"

She collapsed back into her seat, holding her head in her hands as she desperately tried to think of another way to locate Batman.

"You know, Batman can hold his own, Babs-" Robin started. "I think we should focus on trying to find Nightwing."

"You heard him back there, Jason!" Admonished Batgirl. "He's in no condition to fend for himself!."

"Then we really _do_ need Nightwing." Jason continued. "Because with him, we stand a better chance of finding Batman."

Robin noted with interest that she was about to say something, but she hesitated, shaking her head to herself. She stomped an angry foot to the floor and grabbed her lap-top.

"I'm going to go back over the files we recorded at the Warehouse." Announced Batgirl, to which Robin sighed in response.

"We've been over them ten times..."

But he joined her in the double-check anyway, if only to keep from dwelling on awful thoughts.

_Elsewhere._

Harley was walking through the new hideout, admiring it's praticality and planning the interior design. It was a fair distance out of Gotham, which was useful. They knew about Batman's cowl technology, and the white-noise transmitter they had used to interfere with it's signal was expensive to run. It had cost them a fair amount to get a hold of it as well. By "them", of course, she didn't mean herself and the Joker. They hadn't paid a penny. However, it had cost the manufacturer a _fair_ amount to hand it over. In fact, _hand_ it over was an apt term indeed, considering that this certain individual no longer _had any._

She burst into laughter at the memory. The Joker had made plenty of witty puns that she was sure the guy would have appreciated had be not been so otherwise preoccupied with screaming.

Speaking of screaming...

She had reached the door to a small side room where she expected her new "patient" to awaken any moment. From a coat hook that was located just beside the door, she pulled off a large white lab-coat. She had decided to remove the make-up and jester hat for her little game. She had even donned her old phony glasses, the ones she used to wear in order to appear more intelligent. It made sense to her, after all- if she wanted to be a good doctor, she had to present like one. She held a clip-board to her chest. It didn't have anything in it, she had just found it lying around, but it went nicely with the rest of her get-up, so she kept it. She proceeded to enter the room.

It was a simple space, in fact she had organised it to be just like her own cell at Arkham. Plain grey brick walls. Cement floor, one cold metal chair, no other real creature comforts. The sort of place a person could really get to know their thoughts.

She shuddered.

Over in the corner of the room on a plain simple cot bed, the Batman was beginning to stir. The effects of chloroform were now wearing off (well, it was actually the third or fourth dose by now, but who was counting?). The man sat up, still groggy from the anesthetic, and probably the knock-out swing as well, but otherwise in good form. She opened her clipboard and pretended to write, verbally listing her observations.

"Patient is beginning to recover..."

Batman attempted to stand and stomp over to Harley, but found himself overcome with dizziness. He sat back down. Harley watched with an air of nonchalance and continued.

"Sedatives were employed due to patient distress. Over-seeing specialist Dr Quinzel has approved the use of more sedatives if _necessary_." She spoke as she cast a warning glare to the man sitting on the cot. He remained still.

"Patient is presenting with symptoms related to Post-Traumatic Stress Syndrome. With a secondary diagnosis of Self-righteousness Disorder and Goody-Two-Shoe Syndrome."

Batman squinted his eyes, scrutinizing the woman before him.

"What do you want from me, Quinn?" He demanded.

She smiled as she dragged the metal chair to a new position opposite Batman, sitting in it.

"What we want for all our patients, Batman. Peace of mind. Rehabilitation. By the end of our sessions, you'll be a reformed individual. A new man!"

"I'm fine the way I am!" He replied.

Harley nodded her head and opened the clip-board once again, verbally dictating her fake-recordings. "Patient demonstrates reasonable self-esteem. Dr is not certain if the positivity is merely another ruse, added to embellish the mystique of the mask." She closed the board and looked towards the man before her.

"You wear a lot of black, Mr Batman." She observed. "Do you think your clothing choices represent how you feel _inside?_ "

"This is absolutely ridiculous."

"They all say that at the start."

"What do you _want_ from me?"

She could see he was getting agitated. This was going to be _insanely_ enjoyable, she thought to herself as she folded one leg over the other, an attempt to get comfortable. Harley threw Batman what she thought was going to be a genuinely warm smile, but only came out as something of a forced grimace- oh well, she thought, it wasn't the first time she'd had to fake her way through something. She continued.

"To begin with, Mr Batman, we'll be evaluating your emotional responses to certain stimuli. We have reason to believe you may be sufferng from symptoms connected to psychological trauma." She paused to observe his response. Nothing. He was sitting, making no movements. Steel cold. He spoke.

"What kind of game are you playing now, Harley? They stripped you of your qualifications. Don't you remember?" He wore no expression. She continued.

"Funny you should mention remembering, B-man. I'd like to ask you a few questions. Please feel free to indicate if you find the questions too uncomfortable to continue." She opened the clipboard- still empty, of course, and cleared her throat.

"Can you describe what you were doing on the night of April twenty-second this year?" She asked.

Batman's eyes widened as he realised with powerful intensity that the woman parading as a Doctor before him had inside information about _that_ night. He checked himself and immediately resumed a steely air, but in the brief moment his expression betrayed him, Harley had mentally noted his reaction.

 _Bingo_. She thought to herself.

"What can you tell me about that night, Mr Batman?"

"I'm not answering your questions, Quinn."

Harley lifted her glasses to gaze at the man before her, she wore a sceptical expression. She resumed her verbal observations. "Patient demonstrates a distinct lack of rapport with his Doctor. Potentially indicative of guarded behaviours, linked to psychological trauma."

Batman rolled his eyes. It was going to be a very long day, and this was getting very uncomfortable indeed.

_Freight Train Terminal, location un-known._

Nightwing found himself awoken suddenly by the loud rattling of freight doors being opened. He momentarily forgot his gag as he attempted to call out, choking on the wad of cotton that had been jammed in his mouth before he was gag-taped. He groaned angrily when the doors rolled shut again. He could recognise the sensation of feeling returning to his extremely numb sides and arms. He tried rolling over, which wasn't so difficult as he had expected despite the extremely tight binds. He noted with pleasant surprise that he was able to see out of the sides of the wooden crate- but only just. There were several small beams of light shining into various parts of the freight container, which enabled him to see some of the cargo.

He craned his neck to see if he could find any indicator of his current location. He was on the threshold of giving up, with his neck bent to an exceptionally painful angle, when he saw a box with a label on it that was facing his direction (although it was upside down). He scanned the text through to the recipient's details, including address. He ignored the name and street number, instead skipping to the city information.

He gasped- which was an uncomfortable experience with a mouth full of cotton and tape. He kicked a foot out in frustration, stubbing his toe painfully on the roof of the wooden crate. It was going to be a very _interesting_ experience explaining _this_ one away. he thought to himself.

He looked once again to the label, just to assure himself he had not read incorrectly.

Nope. There it was, as plain as he could make out in the shadows of the carriage.

 _Metropolis_.


	15. Heart of Steel Pt. 2

_Wayne Manor/The Batcave_

Alfred sighed as he looked into the empty suites of Bruce Wayne. It wasn't a new experience for them to be empty of course, even for weeks and weeks on end. But those were different circumstances. Those were business, or leisure (which of course, actually meant "keeping up the playboy appearance".

But this wasn't like those times. This time, Bruce Wayne was in the custody of the most insane psychopath known, which would be danger enough at any time, let alone when one was not at their peak. Bruce most certainly wasn't.

Alfred sadly shook his head. He felt a certain level of guilt. He was plagued with thoughts of the medication that he had so long insisted his master take. Was it possible that the sudden withdrawal of them had affected Bruce's abilities? After all, it was the testosterone that fed his muscle structure.

"Damn it!" He cursed angrily, slamming a tightly clenched fist onto the wall. It wasn't an outrageous action, he knew no one outside the room would have heard it. He didn't want to be seen breaking composure after all. Still...could he be blamed? Memories of the years gone by flew into his mind. Instances where he had almost told the truth to Bruce. Moments when, realising how easily Bruce could potentially figure everything out for himself, he had nearly come clean. Yes, he decided. He _could_ be blamed.

Still, he wondered if it truly was the reduction of testosterone that had caused Bruce's problems. Or whether it was...

He didn't finish the thought. He had no proof that any sort of assault had occured. Only guesswork had led him to that conclusion- well, he wasn't sure, but it seemed as if Barbara, too, thought along the same lines. As yet, however, she had not said anything.

As far as Alfred could see, all of Bruce's problems could easily be traced back to himself. He blamed himself for handling things in-correctly and he cursed himself for not having done more research. Of course, now it was too late.

No, at this time it was pivotal that they find Batman. He would put all his effort into recovering Bruce, and then, only after he was found and safe back home- only then he would come clean.

In the Batcave, Barbara and Jason were- for the tenth straight hour- working on the case. They were multi-tasking, seeking out clues about the location of Nightwing and Batman simultaneously. Jason was at one computer, while Barbara was at the Trace Technology computer, reading streams and streams of data.

Jason groaned, resting his head on folded arms. "So we absolutely can't find Batman using the Trace Technology?" He said with a muffle.

Barbara sighed. "No. His information isn't on anything I can locate."

Jason lifted his head. "And they can't change it?"

Barbara went to say no, but paused. Her eyes widened in realisation and she grinned. She swiveled her chair around and zoomed over to where Jason sat, slugging him on the arm playfully.

"You've just given me a great idea! I can't believe I didn't think of it myself!"

"You say that frequently..."

"Shut up, Jay. Anyway!" She said, shoving him out of the way as she grabbed the laptop. "I should have thought of this hours ago!"

"What are you doing?"

"I'm going to contact Dr Taylor Itzak. He's a geneticist. He's also the bio-informatician who helped develop the trace technology." She answered.

Jason nodded slowly, realisation dawning on his face. He clicked his fingers. "Hey, I know that name. Isn't he the Dr who-?"

"Helped improve DNA profiling technologies for the Federal Police?" Answered Barbara

"No, the-"

"The guy who developed new methods of DNA manipulation?"

"Well, yeah, but I mean-"

"The person who was just awarded the Shuster Prize for Advancements in Genetics?"

"Of course but...well. You _know_..."

Barbara sighed and rolled her eyes.

"I _do_ know, Jay. But that's completely beside the point!"

Jason grimaced and shrugged. "Well, I know its not any of my business...but still." He smirked to himself as he looked at the image that had just been brought up onto the screen. The person was youngish-looking, despite his thirty-eight years. He had a short mop of brown hair and wore a pair of black-framed rectangular glasses. Around his neck was placed a necklace with a token. On the token was imprinted a circle, at the bottom of which poked the symbol that represented the female gender. From the top-right side stuck the symbol for the male gender, and opposite it, on the left side was a symbol that seemed to be both male and female combined. All the gender symbols combined in one image.

Jason shrugged at Barbara's continued gaze-with-eyebrow-raised.

"Well...I mean, come on Babs." He said fumblingly. "How often do you come across a _he_ who used to be a _she_?"

"You know, Jay, for someone so smart at times, you can be really ignorant..."

...

_The New Ha-Hacienda. Unspecified location_

Harley woke with an ecxited level of giddiness. Today was day-two of her Batman therapy program and she had a lot of interesting plans. Already she had built a mental profile ready for use. She reviewed her previous "notes". Well, what she could remember of them...

The Batman was obviously repressing some horrible, _horrible_ memory. She felt that his cold, unaffected response to her probing questions was certainly an indicator of his shattered emotional state. After all, it was just as she had learned back at University- she knew very well that many cases of Psychological Trauma presented with a decreased capacity to feel certain emotions, and many would lose the ability to recall specific details relating to their traumatic experience. Which Batman indeed seemed to be demonstrating.

Well, so she assumed. Maybe he was just untalkative in general, which did not serve to make her job any easier.

So today was the day she would get to perform a _minor_ test. A test that would allow her, the overseeing psychologist, to determine whether or not the patient was being an annoying little bother, or genuinely affected so negatively by his experience that he had begun to shut off his emotions.

She desperately hoped for the latter. It would give her more time to exercise her skills.

When she opened the door to the little cell, Batman was already up. Well, awake anyway. She could see he had not eaten the small morsel of food they had served him, which caused her to wrinkle her nose in disapproval.

"Not hungry, Mr Batman?" She asked, with a faux-good natured tone.

"How do I know it isn't poisoned? You shut off my cowl's reading capabilities..."

She rolled her eyes and picked the plate up, grabbing a small stale biscuit, taking a bite, chewing and making an obvious gulp as she swallowed it, just to demonstrate her point.

"There." She said, shoving the plate towards him. "Inform his majesty that the victuals are suitable for his consumption."

Batman squinted his eyes, pushing the plate aside. "I'll eat it later. When I have some _peace_." He said pointedly. Harley just smiled and opened her clipboard, once again acting the role of psychologist to it's full extent despite the lack of paper or recording devices. She began with her verbal observations, to which Batman only rolled his eyes.

" Psycholgist Dr Harleen Quinzel overseeing patient... Batman." She folded her legs. "In our previous session, Mr Batman, we discussed the possibility that you may be suffering the effects of psychological trauma, possibly even Post-Traumatic Stress Syndrome."

Batman said nothing. She continued.

"However, it would appear that for reasons we have not yet ascertained, you are either unable or unwilling to divulge specific details and emotions related to the key date we identified."

"What on earth makes you think that I would I have " _sharing time_ " with you, Quin?" He asked, words drenched with cynisism. She ignored him.

"In today's session, we will be performing a few minor diagnostic tests. We assure you that throughout the duration of said tests, we will ensure that all measures be taken to protect your safety and sense of wellbeing...even if you may feel _uncomfortable_ yourself."

She reached into her lab-coat pocket and pulled out a small photograph.

"Can you identify the man in this picture?"

Batman recoiled, but only slightly. The man was tall, his leering smile filled with bits of gold and silver, other teeth seemed blackened from drug abuse. He could almost recall the putrid stench of his breath. His greasy hair was tied back- Batman knew it was into a ponytail despite the fact it was not shown in the picture. He suddenly had an overwhelming urge to spit, but refrained. Otherwise, he noted with surprise, he felt- very little.

"That-" He answered, voice firm. "...is Nells Kalinsky. He is a criminal wanted by law."

"Oh, I know _that_." Harley said patronisingly. "But I want to know...what you _personally_ know of him?"

"Nothing else."

"So sure?" She said leeringly.

Harley Quinn began staring at Batman with an un-nerving glare. It was penetrative. It was invasive. It was the type of glare that could say absolutely everything or absolutely nothing. He couldn't be sure if she was only bluffing, or if she really meant those two extremely powerful words by the look on her face. He matched her gaze for a few moments and decided that yes, she meant what she was saying- even though she said nothing at all. The eyes said everything.

They said _I know._

He burst out laughing.

...

_Gotham City Police Department_

Commissioner Gordon sat at his desk, tapping his fingers impatiently. He was waiting for the arrival of Batgirl, Robin and a third person. It was always unusual talking to Batgirl on the phone- if she didn't announce herself first, he could almost swear she sounded like his own daughter.

He shook his head. That was silly, of course, because his daughter Barbara was at college. Far from the unsafe underbelly of the Gotham metropolis.

Speaking of Metropolis...

He reached for the newspaper that had been laying on the corner of his desk. Opening to a page that had been previously marked for his perusal, he read the headline once again.

" _Criminal Clown Skips Gotham."_ And the sub-heading " _Joker sets sights on the City of Tommorow!"_

He began to read the article, detailing a number of sightings and witnesses to the increased presence of the GCPD's most dangerous adversary in Metropolis.

It confused him, but he justified it as one of the insane, un-knowable twists of the insane clown. He scanned down the page and tossed it aside. He lifted up more reports- no news on Kalinksy. In fact, in recent weeks, they hadn't seen or heard anything about him.

 _Maybe he skipped to Metropolis too_ He thought to himself, chuckling slightly. He stopped immediately, remembering with painful clarity the acts that Kalinsky was capable of. The people he managed to bring down.

At that moment his thoughts were interuppted by the intercom.

"Commissioner, we have Batgirl, Robin and a Dr Itzak here. I sent them straight up." He thanked her. This was followed moments later by the sound of footsteps approaching his office. He opened the door and let them in, nodding his greeting to each as they entered. Eventually , they stood in a circle as Batgirl performed the introductions.

"Commissioner Gordon, this is Dr Taylor Itzak. Dr Itzak, Commissioner Gordon."

They shook hands and proceeded to take seats. Batgirl waited until everyone was seated comfortably, then spoke.

"Dr Itzak is here to help us solve a number of problems. First of all, he was a leading specialist in the development of the Trace Technology."

"For which we here at the GCPD were very thrilled about." Added Gordon, "Until it was stolen, that is."

Itzak smiled good-naturedly. "Its a hot item. A matter of global interest." He spoke with a voice that resembled a much younger man's. Gordon knew this to be a result of the Dr's recent uptake of testosterone, having spent the majority of his "out" life (the time between his public announcement regarding being transgender and now) "pre-T".

Robin was obviously still getting used to it. The man, who although was much older than he, spoke with a timbre that sounded younger than his own. It was obvious he tried to hide the trace of a smirk on his face. Eventually, his better judgment won out and he managed to maintain formal composure.

Batgirl produced print-outs of the information they had recorded, handing them to everyone present.

"We have reason to believe that The Joker may have gotten his hands on some of Dr Itzak's most recent work." She nodded to Itzak to take over.

"A few months back, certain files linked with my genetic engineering research went missing." He started. "At first we assumed it was a rival university, but the investigation came to moot..." He paused for a second as his eye lingered on the discarded newspaper, still open to the Joker page, leading him to become momentarily distracted. "I...uh..."

Gordon pressed him to continue.

"Of course, sorry." He chuckled at himself. "Big news, isn't it?" He said, indicating the paper.

Gordon nodded. "Why do you think the Joker's got anything to do with it?"

Itzak nodded his head nervously. "Well...its a matter of great interest to many criminals, I believe. You see...what I discovered was...DNA cloaking."

Gordon paused, eyes widening.

"You mean you discovered a way to _change_ people's DNA?"

Itzak laughed and shook his head. "Lordy, no. Imagine...you could change so much about yourself that way." He sighed. "No, its just a cover. Blanketing technology. Using the methods I described in my research paper, a person would theoretically be able to hide their DNA. Make it look as though it was someone elses. Or completely new- although we haven't gotten quite that far yet."

Just at that moment, they were interupted by a knock on the door.

"Is it important?" Called out Gordon. The voice that responded spoke with confidence, sprinkled with a zesty latin accent.

"You better believe it, Commissioner!" Det. Renee Montoya replied. She opened the door and excused herself to the people within, immediately walking up to Gordon and producing a report.

"Word has it Kalinsky and a man who has been identified as one of Joker's thugs were spotted at a Train Station just south of Metropolis." She handed him the paper and stood back, hand on hips, smiling broadly. "They got it on security tapes and everything"

An air of excitement filled the room as Gordon sprung to action.

"I want to get in contact with the Metropolis division, see what info they've got. I also want a team heading up there within the hour. Pack your overnight bag, Montoya!"

She flicked her hand to her temple by way of a mock-salute and bounded out the door. Gordon addressed the others.

"Itzak, I assume you'll be wanting to work on the DNA trace. How can we help you with that?"

Itzak shrugged and squinted his eyes in thought. "I need a sample of Batman's DNA...I'll have to fly it back to my machine though-"

"No you won't." Interupted Batgirl. "I happen to have one myself. Its at a secret location, however. Robin knows the drill-" She looked at Robin who had already produced an eye-mask.   
  
"You two go on ahead..." Batgirl insisted.

They left. Batgirl paused, watching Gordon as he grabbed his reports. She chewed on her lower lip- a habit he had always chided her on. Realising that, she let her lip go. She had to remember she was "Batgirl" now. Not Barbara Gordon.

Gordon grabbed his hat and prepared to leave the room when he noticed Batgirl still lingering.

"...can I help you, Batgirl?"

She wore a concerned expression on her face. She dropped her voice so that no one could hear. A technique she had picked up from Gordon himself. Whenever talking about private matters that could absolutely NOT reach the ears of the less-than-scrupulous GCPD officers.

"I know...about Batman." She said. He didn't need her to re-iterate exactly _what_ she knew about Batman. He sighed,  welcoming his expression of relief.

"So he told you. Thank goodne-"

"No-" She cut him off. He looked at her confusedly.

"What's happened...?"

She sighed, and he swore he could see the moistness growing in her eyes. Her eyes that reminded him- he shook his head. That was beside the point. She spoke, this time betraying the calm, cool exterior that she had always managed to hold so steel-strong before him. She let out one sob, and he gasped.

He recognised that sob!

"...Barb-"

"Don't!" She stopped him. "Don't say it." She shook her head and wiped away the treacherous tear. "Don't make it real."

They pause silently for a moment, Gordon- to allow the confirmations on suspicions that had always rested in his mind to sink in. Barbara to calm herself down from the verge of tears. She spoke again.

"Batman isn't well. He hasn't coped with... what happened. The reason he was caught is because he couldn't fight back."

"He was having a flashback?"

"Yeah."

Gordon walked up to the girl wearing the batsuit- the person who he had always engaged with in a strictly professional capacity. Someone who had always reminded him of his daughter. Someone he had even forced himself to not think about, just in case it turned out to be true. He placed a comforting hand on her upper-eft-arm.

"We'll _find_ him . We'll _help_ him."

She allowed her right hand to linger in the air for a moment, finally resting it on top of her father's. Then she left, without another word.

...

_The New Ha-Hacienda, location Unspecified..._

Harley Quinn reviewed her notes, and laughed.

Except for that strange instant earlier where he laughed for a full minute before stopping, not another word, Batman was still not responding with any major emotional display. The continued emotional distance was exactly what she wanted. She wanted an excuse to "bring on the big guns" as it were. To really stir up her patient.

After all, "it has to hurt if it's to heal." Isn't that what the old adage said?

She stood out of the freezing metal-framed chair and walked to the door. Batman spoke.

"Is that it, then?"

She shook her head. "Oh no, B-man. Testing ain't over yet. One more to go." She opened the door and called out.

"Hey Mister J! It's time to bring our guest in to play!"

The maniacal laughter rippled throughout the echoing space, interspersed with loud groans and what sounded like painful thuds as what sounded like a large mass was being lugged through the hideout.

Into the room waltzed the joker, followed closely by two of his thugs.

"Come on, boys! What are you waiting for!" He said to them. "Let Batman play with his new friend!"

They tossed a beaten and bloody form onto the floor. He groaned and rolled over. Batman felt his heart turn to ice within him. He gasped, jolting as far back onto his bed as he could in one swift movement. The Joker burst into raucous guffaws. Batman didn't hear anything. His entire attention lay undivided on the broken, bleeding form of the man on the floor.

_Kalinsky._

 


	16. Old Wounds

_Kalinsky!_

Batman's entire focus was driven to the lump of bleeding, bruised personage on the floor of his cell. As quickly as his attention had been drawn to what he was seeing, Batman found his entire awareness go vague. It was as if he was slipping into a dream state, only he was more awake than he had ever felt in his life. This time he could see what was happening. He knew he was entering a flashback, yet he could not find anyway to ground himself in the present. It was almost as if his mind was trying to defend itself from the pain of a potentially new horrendous experience by trying to re-live the original one. He dissociated.

Harley began laughing with self-gratification as she watched Batman fighting with himself. It was becoming more and more evident by the second that she had been right,that Batman was indeed suffering from severe psychological trauma, and that it had everything to do with Kalinsky. It made her giddy to be right. It was an affirmation of a caliber that she had not received from the Joker in a long time. She felt triumphant in her ability to be correct about something. She fervently hoped that it would please her J. She would do so many things to please him. She lived to please. She glanced over at The Joker, noting with a glow in her heart that he was, indeed, laughing much harder than she.

Then her attention switched to the caped-man before her, and she watched him as he breathed his rapid, shallow breaths. Then he began trembling all over. He was utterly trapped in his flashback. She noticed that the Joker was still cackling on as gaily as ever, and she was too...but there was a familiar, odd heavy feeling in her stomach. It began nagging at her, filling her chest with that "cold" feeling she was always trying to chase away. Her laughs dropping off every second as she slipped into a frown.

Batman was now crouched over, gripping at his head. It was the picture of pathetic. She cast a glance to the pimp who lay beaten on the floor. He wasn't moving. He was barely even breathing. In fact, he was quite possibly _dead_ judging from how heavy handed the thugs had been with the crowbars...

And there was Batman, Gotham's greatest crimefighter- the man who instilled fear in the heats of crooks everywhere. Beaten down by the actions of this pulp on the floor. In fact, even as a man who was obviously in no condition to torment anyone, he still had Batman _down_. He still exerted the most powerful control in the world. She imagined that she could feasibly control Batman the rest of his days, just by manipulating his psyche. Tormenting him with memories of Kalinsky.

But an annoying little speck inside her knew that she would not do that. It itched at her, and ate at her. she sighed angrily and snapped at the two thugs, speaking with an air of authority that she did not usually exert. 

"OK, boys, that's enough testing for today. Take him away."

The Joker looked mildly disappointed that the game was over, but clicked his fingers indicating to the two henchmen to follow orders. They hoisted Kalinsky up by his armpits and dragged him out, leaving a smeared trail of blood. Harley toyed at it with her feet as she contemplated. She looked back to Batman, who was still in his state of dissociation. The angry little ant biting away in her belly suddenly gave way to a sudden wave of pity, and exhaustion she hadn't felt in herself for years. She turned about to face him.

"Batman. He's gone. Wake up." She said, clicking her fingers. No response.

"B-man, wakey wakey!" She walks over and nudges him with her foot. Then, with a sudden yell, he lurched out and grabbed her legs. She squawked in surprise and toppled over on top of him. It seemed to startle him enough to bring him back to reality. He shoved her off him and mumbled something that she interpreted as "sorry".

"No need to be sorry," She said, picking herself up and dusting herself off. "I got you figured out, B-man."

He penetrated her with a deeply accusing gaze. She shuddered

"Why did you do that?" He asked darkly.

Something in his voice tickled Harley's funny bone, and the pity hoopla'd into giggles. "So, got yourself mixed up with one o' sweetie's girls, huh?" She indicated the door with her thumb, in reference to the man who had just been dragged out. Her laughter grew stronger.

"So who'da thunk a tough guy like you, normally so on _top_ of it all... would'a ended up-"

" _Shut up_ , Quinn."

She looked over at Batman, who had returned to a sitting position on his bed. She paced back and forth before him, reaching into her lab-coat.

"Fine, B-man. But I just gotta say...in my professional opinion, you're awfully unaffected by it all. I'm going to prescribe some propanalol."

She pulled a small orange bottle out of her lab-coat and handed it to him. She snickered, indicating the label. "It says propano _lol_ , get it?

She started laughing as if to demonstrate her joke. He didn't respond, so she continued.

"Its to stop you dissociating. You and your emotions will stay in touch. Won't that be nice?" She popped a pill out and handed it to Batman, who did nothing.

"Take it, Batman." She shoved it into his face. He pushed her hand away.

"I don't think so."

"What?" She said, a leering smile playing on her lips. "You don't wanna stay in touch with yourself? Or is it that, considering everything...you're not much for being _touched_ lately?" She slapped a hand over his thigh, and burst into laughter as he stood, moved an inch away from her and sat down again with great force. Harley snorted into her arm and laughingly pointed at him.

"Sure you wanna be sitting down so hard? Or is that how you like it down that end? Hard and-"

He cut her off with a swipe aimed at her direction. She knew he didn't intend to actually strike her, but she got the message. She stood up, getting that the mood in the room had changed. Not just the room, actually- she thought to herself. She recognised that her own emotions regarding the situation changed suddenly as well.

"Fine. " She said, snubbly. "But you know, you take things way too seriously, B-man!" She began pacing back and forth, gaining speed. Batman noticed that her expression was growing more and more intense. Her eyes were almost dangerous in the depth of their darkness. She turned to him, with a finger raised.

"Yeah...you know what? You don't have the right!" She poked him, before turning to pace some more. She began laughing again, only this time in cynical self-deprecation. It was enough to send a shiver up Batman's spine.

She turned to face him and started shaking her head.

"You can't _act_ all up yourself just cause _you_ think you've been treated unjustly! Just who do you think you are!" She turned and threw him a deeply scathing look.

"You can't talk, Quinn" Batman admonished, starting to feel burning offense at her actions. "And your jokes aren't funny!"

"You don't like 'em?" She asked, her voice rising in higher pitch with her rising emotions. "SO DON'T LAUGH!"

"It's _sick_ " Batman said "I don't see how you can consider this-this" He searched his mind for a less-intrusive word "How you can consider... _this_...as fodder for comedy!"

Harley let out a giant, "HA!" dripping in cynicism. She proceeded to throw her arms dramatically into the air. "Ohhh noooo! Of course not!" She said sarcastically. "Batman's the _yardstick_. His experience is all that matters! No room edgewise for different opinions or perspectives" She paused to take a breath, cheeks flushing. She continued . "Well, you know what? You know what _Fat_ -man?" She turned to face him menacingly.

"You are NOT the first person in the universe to ride the wild non-consensual, _pal!."_ She paused, watching Batman as his eyebrow raised.

"Yeah," She spat. "Rape is a party and you're not the only GUEST!" She stopped, panting in ragged breaths, they were frozen in silence, glaring at each other long enough for her breathing to return to a regular pattern. 

Then she burst into tears.

 


	17. Birds of a Feather

James "Jimmy" Olsen, cub-reporter and photographer at the Daily Planet- could hardly wait as he stood in line at the post-office. Well, not just _any_ post-office! This was the post office of the Metropolis Grand Central Station! All the important mail came straight here, the big parcels and containers stored in the excellent facilities of the station itself.

And this was important mail! He'd been waiting for this particular parcel with some exitement for a long time now. He'd nearly bolted out of the office the moment the notice had arrived to inform him that it was awaiting him. It was a brand-new top of the line camera, and he'd been allowed to purchase it on the Daily Planet's budget! Of course, he realised it meant that it wasn't _technically_ his camera, but seeing as all the other photographers had fairly recent cameras, an he was always first in every day,...and he seemed to be able to gain frequent contact with the Superman himself (making for great full-cover shots) he assumed that keeping a hand on this one wouldn't be too difficult.

He looked to the newspaper stand that was situated just outside the window. Large print headlines blaring reports about The Joker, who was currently at large in Metropolis. _Of course_ , Jimmy thought to himself, the _Daily Planet_ had been the first to report it. They always were. It filled him with pride.

At this current point, he was about third in line from the service desk. He couldn't help but grin a little. He could hear rustling and conversation going through the open door that lead into the back room. He leaned as far as he could without losing his spot to see what he could see. He noticed that they had begun to talk in shocked and incredulous tones. One of the men made a loud exclamation when he came into contact with the subject of the other mens' hushed conversation.

"Holy smokes, it's addressed to " _Superman_ "?"

Jimmy's ears pricked. He knew Superman. Superman was, in fact, a good personal friend of his...But... _Superman_? Why would anyone be sending a _crate_ to Superman? He continued to listen closely, counting on his skills as a reporter to find him information.

"What do we do with this? Where the hell do you contact THE Superman?"

"Spose its a goof...does it have a return address?"

"No, just says "To Superman, we had a spare one o' these lyin' around, and seeing as everyone knows how much you'd _love_ one of your very own, we packaged it up all nicely just for you!"

The men look at each other, rubbing their necks in confusion. Jimmy decided to lend them a hand...he lifted his wrist up to view the watch- based on technology of his own design- that enabled him to contact Superman from anywhere on the globe. He knew the ole Man Of Steel would arrive within moments, afterall, the former Kryptonian was faster than a speeding... _anyway_.

He hesitated when he went to press the button- afterall, he had been warned by Superman himself to only use it at great necessity. Still- how else would they get this to him? And seriously- would they be able to wait for a major disaster to open it? He pressed the button and true to his habit, Superman was there within moments, rushing in- obviously expecting some sort of emergency. The other occupants of the room began to gasp in awe. Superman spotted the younger man and approached.

"...Jimmy! What is it- What's happened?"

Jimmy pointed to the back-room. "You got mail."

Superman stared at him with a deeply incredulous expression.

"You _didn't_ just call me on the signal watch just so I could collect my _mail...?"_

Jimmy shrugged and pointed out the back. He knew Superman was a genuinely nice guy,but he still hoped that whatever it was out back would be worth the call. Otherwise...well, he didn't want to give the big guy a reason to confiscate the watch.

Superman was in the middle of deciding whether or not he would wait his turn in line, or walk up to the desk. In the end, his decision was made for him when one of the men from the back came out and saw him.

"Jeez! It's him!...uh, you're package is this way, uh, sir..." Obviously, the man wasn't accustomed to running into super-humans everyday...

He lead Superman out the back, where the crate sat. Superman was suspicious...highly so. He knew it was just as likely to be a gag as anything else. Then again, he remembered the Clown Prince of Crime...who had recently made the big move to Metropolis. A clown who had a particular penchant for _gags_ of _all sorts._

He decided to be safe, and use his x-ray vision- a skill he was capable of thanks to his Kryptonian heritage. A highly useful skill, in fact- unless it came to lead, of looked at the crate, various possibilities concering it's contents running through his mind, his sense on alert, just in case. His gaze locked onto the contents within. His eyes went wide in disbelief.

"Oh my God!"

...

_New Ha-Hacienda_

Harley was sitting on the metal chair, staring off into nothing. She had stopped crying several minutes ago and they hadn't said a word to each other since. Batman gazed at her, trying to analyse whether or not she was being truthful. Afterall, he reasoned, she and the Joker were well known for being able to manipulate their victims into a state of empathy. The classic "Stockholm Syndrome". He wasn't sure he was convinced at all by her story. Still, a small wave of pity sunk into his stomach. She was the type of person he could imagine as being so eager to please that people would unscrupulously take advantage of her. Harley registered that he was staring at her, and looked up at him. Something in his gaze started to tick her off. The paranoia began to creep in, and Harley sniffed loudly her disapproval.

"You think I'm lyin'?" She asked, shaking her head. She tossed it back in a cackle of laughter. "Yeah, you think I'm talkin' about Mister J!" She stood and started pacing back and forth in her familiar manic way, a habit she had adopted from the Joker. "Yeah, _you_ think that I'm talkin' about the Joker, and that it doesn't count!"

"I never said that." His voice was calm, still. He didn't want to trigger an act of rage.

She huffed and folded her arms, looking at him with an accusatory glance.

"You didn't _have_ to!" She paced again. "I've heard it _all_ before, B-man!" Another huff. "Girl like you?" She said in a falsetto. "As if you weren't _asking for it_!" Obviously an imitation of words that had been directed at her sometime in her past. She wiped a stray tear from her cheek. Batman spoke.

"No-one asks for it, Quinn." He said, repeating the familiar words of comfort he himself had read on every website, every pamphlett, or every public service announcement. He knew how empty they could sound, even in their truth.

Harley threw Batman a deeply menacing look, and started stalking up to him. "How do you _know._ I dressed like a little slut! I performed just to get the boys' attention! Maybe it doesn't it count cause I didn't always say no! , but then, sometimes I didn't even get the chance!"

She stared at him angrily, as he gazed back stoic and unemotive.

"Look at you!" She chided. "Actin' like everything you' been through's just another newspaper clippin'. Yesterday's news. Nothin' to worry about. Nothin' to care or _cry_ about." She paced some more.

"You know, maybe you lived a charmed life until now! Maybe thats why why you think it should be so easy for you to get over!"

Batman shook his head. "You have no _idea_ what my life has been like. This isn't the first time something absolutely significant to me was taken away, and it won't be the last."

Harley stopped and stared for a few seconds, misconstruing his words "You were a virgi-?"

"I meant _CHOICE,_ Harley."

"Oh! _Ohhhh_ -" She shook her head once again, cynical laughter climbing into her voice. " _Oh-ho ho ho ho ho."_ She began stalking up to him, slowly, anger and frustration lacing each word. "You don't know the first _thing_ about not having a choice." She was inches from his face, her could almost feel her breath. She lingered dangerously close, and for an awkward split second, he was seriously worried she was going to come in for a kiss. Thats when he felt a heavy thwack accompanied by a painful sting slide across his cheek.

She slapped him!

They stared at each other for a few seconds. Batman opened his mouth to speak-

Then she did it again, and again! Only this time with the other hand slapping him across the other side of the face.

"Don't like it, B-man?" She asked as she continued to slap him. Only now with much more force. What on earth was she doing? He stood up and walked away, but she followed him, laying rage-filled slaps and punches onto his face, arms and chest. He raised his arms in a show of no resistance, just in case she was actually having a flashback- but it became evident she wasn't. She was trying to proove a point. Her eyes were beginning to fill with tears, her breath becoming laden and ragged. Her slaps and punches became forced and frantic.

She slapped him hard across the face and yelled.

" _CRY,_ God-damn you!"

He made no attempt to restrain her punching, even as she was becoming more and more worked up.

"Come- on-have a little SOB" She cried, interpsersing her words with punches and slaps. "Or-Tell- Me- To-Stop!" She even kicked him. "TELL ME TO STOP!"

She began slapping him with incredible force, each one filled with impenetrable rage, accompanied by deep laboured breaths that were beginning to turn into sobs.

"TELL ME!" She screamed.

_Slap!_

"TO STOP!"

_Slap!_

"STOP IT!"

_Slap!_

"S-stop it _..._ It _h-hurts_ so much... _"_

_Double slap!_

"IT HURTS!" Suddenly, he saw the light in her eyes change, and watched with an open mouth in shock as she dropped to the floor, wracked with choking sobs. Her next words gripped his heart in an icy burst.

 _"..._ Daddy _, please_!"

He could only stare at her as she choked and sobbed upon the floor. He bent down to reach out to her, to help her up. Her head snapped up at the brief contact, and Batman recoiled in shock at the expression on her face.

She was _grinning_. She pointed to her eyes.

" _See_ , Batman. I can _do_ it! You can't cry about it, and it only happened to you _once_!" She sobbed, still laughing as she shook her head. "Once, Batman! When it happened to me _so_ many times." She stumbles to her feet and slaps him once again across the face. He doesn't even attempt to step back this time. He just takes it.

"Ole' daddy _loved_ his little Harleen _sooo_ much, couldn't LEAVE her ALONE!" A hard thwack, accompanied by a desperate sob.

"And what about _YOUR_ prom? Betcha it weren't _NOTHING_ like mine!" Another punch to the chest. "I didn't even get through the door! _DIDN'T_ even leave _the car_!"

Her breath had turned to sobs, and weakly, she jammed a fist onto his chest, suddenly losing all strength. She seemed to have reached her breaking point.

As she did, though there was still a trace of irony, her voice dropped to a pathetic almost-whimper,

"I worked _so hard_ to buy that dress..." She wiped her eyes. "Stupid jock didn't even think to use the _zipper..._."

Batman felt a wave of sympathy for the woman who was standing before him, one hand still held in a loose fist over his chest, in it's last attempt at fighting back. In his mind's eye, upsetting images began to fly by him. He could see the frightened young girl, hiding from her father in shadows, knowing all to well how useless it would be. That eventually he would find her, and hurt her in the most atrocious way- and she would just accept it. Knowing that she would never be strong enough to fight back.

Then he imagined the same girl, only older, only ever having learnt one way to get attention. Not having been affirmed enough as a child to see her own goodnesses and abilities. He could almost hear the cat-calling, and the loose-handed actions of the boys. The snickers, the gossiping. The whispers. Perhaps she was the school _sleaze._ Maybe it was the only way she had ever known how to get attention. Could she be blamed?

His mind wandered into the car with that teenaged girl, glowing in her brand new, shimmering pink prom dress. Giggling exitedly as they pulled into the parking lot, finally glad for the end of the year. To have one night of glory as the girl with the hottest date, the school _slut_ to come out on top! Heck- maybe even win prom Queen! Happy just to be there anyway.

After tonight, she would never have to see _them_ and their snickering and whispers again. In his mind's eye, Batman could see her smiling as she turned to the football jock beside her, wanting to thank him- only to feel the all too familiar sting of a slap run across her freshly made-up cheek. The horrid sinking sensation, the disappointment. The fear. He could even hear the wracking sobs of a girl who realised that she wasn't _going_ to her prom anymore. The sinking acknolwedgment that the only reason she had been asked was for this purpose, and this purpose only. The muffled screams as she tried to pry his hand from her lips- smearing the lipstick she had only managed to find in the perfect shade that very afternoon. The sound of precious, hard-paid for satin being shred like tissues by heavy knuckled hands as the young girl tried desperately to fight her way out, to escape. But no. An already broken girl's one night of change, ruined before it even began.

Without realising it, he had been holding his breath. His lngs ached for oxygen, and he gulped the air in- and though he didn't intend for it to do so- instead of a smooth exhale, it came back out as a soft sob.

And it was soon followed by another.

And another.


	18. The Strange Secret of Bruce Wayne

_Wayne Manor/The Batcave_

Dr Itzak- the genetics and bioinformatics expert- was gazing through various scopes and aparatus, as well as experimenting with different codes on Batgirl's super computer. He wasn't sure how long they had been at it- first briefing each other on the technology, then deciding on methods. They hadn't been at the microscopes very long- but they were still hours into the research. He switched to a stronger magnification, this time sliding a sample of Batman's DNA under the scope. He gasped in surprise as something highly interesting caught his eye. He looked up from the microscope and over to Batgirl who was labouring over a microscope of her own.

"Batgirl,can I ask you a question...about Batman?" He asked "But not his personal identity or anything..." He added quickly.

She nodded, without looking up.

"Is he transgender?"

Batgirl looked up slowly, her expression reading no surprise at his question. It was pretty much as if she had been expecting it.

At first, Batgirl wasn't sure how to respond. But the weight of everything she had been learning about Batman in the past few weeks was starting to get to her. She was also extremely concerned about the Dark Knight. So, seeing no other alternative, she pushed away from her table, walking over to Itzak.

"I saw the chromosomes too...a few weeks ago." She gazed off quietly. "I didn't say anything because...well- he's a secretive person at the _best_ of times, and frankly, what goes on in a person's past or private life is not mine to discuss unless they bring it up with me first."

Itzak nodded as she returned to her post to resume her research. However...there was one more question he wanted to ask.

"Did...is he? I mean." He blushed, he had never in a million years imagined he would ever be asking any question on this line of thought about Batman.

Batgirl noticed his fumbling and looked over at him- yet her expression was not confused. She was almost willing him to ask the question, because it would give her permission to continue expressing her concerns.

"Is he...?" She probed, hoping he would continue.

Itzak shrugged. "I can understand if this is too personal...but...is he into men?"

Batgirl shook her head "No...he's not- it wasn't..."She sighed. There was no easy way about this, was there? She supposed honesty would be the best policy.

"He was...assaulted." She said. Itzak made an apologetic expression, grimacing.

"That's terrible...did he charge whoever it was?" He asked.

"No. No they can't get any evidence on him. Maybe you can help us with that..."

Itzak's expression went slightly cloudy, furrowing his brow, he nodded.

"You got any names?"

"Just one." She said, pulling a mugshot up onto her screen. "Nells Kalinsky-"

She turned to face Itzak, who was now chewing the inside of his lip. She could read his expression, she could see recognition in his eyes. Obviously he was also on top of the news. He seemed rather put-off by the image, so she minimised it.

"Besides..." she continued. "Batman hasn't really been coping all too well with what happened. He may actually be going through some psychological distress...and add on top of that the...the..."

She felt extremely guilty, sharing such personal information with someone Batman had never even met, and without his permission. It was a boundary she should not have crossed, but she wasn't sure who else to turn to. She looked over to Itzak again. She knew what he was thinking. It was the very same something she had deduced not that long ago. Shortly before his abduction, in fact. It was this knowledge and the fact she didn't do more to stop him that lead to the insurmountable levels of guilt she experienced over the whole situation. She had wanted to talk about it for sometime, but did not know who to confess to, to express her emotions. Possibly Nightwing- had he been there- but then again, he was close with Bruce. As were Alfred and Jason. She just couldn't discuss it with them, not without discussing it with Bruce himself first. Then she had considered her father, seeing as he now knew who she was (had probably always known...). But no- that wouldn't have felt right either. It had to be Bruce himself first.

But would she ever get the chance? What if she never saw him again? She gasped and shoved the intrusive thought out of her mind. Tracing her finger in circles along her desk, she once again looked over to Itzak, trying to determine if he was the right person to even consider spilling this too. It had to be someone disconnected, but with sense and knowledge enough to be understanding.

She probably wouldn't find a more understanding person than Itzak at this particular moment. Maybe even ever.

"Itzak..." she started. "I...knew about... _it_ , before he went on the case that ended in his abduction..."

"You mean his pregnancy?" He replied.

"Yeah." She said. That was it in one. The fact that Batman was, because he was still physically capable of it-pregnant, as a result of his assault. She knew it. Itzak knew it. She thought that maybe even Alfred was suspicious. But Batman himself?

She sighed with the sudden rush of relief, finally being able to relish the fact that she didn't have to hold it in anymore. She hadn't realised how heavy it had made her until it was off her chest. She shook her head disbelievingly.

"I couldn't believe it at first. I don't think _he_ even knows-"

Itzak raised his eyebrow.

"You can't be serious..."

"I am. According to his bloodwork from several months ago...he used to be on testosterone. As far as I'm aware, Batman has only ever taken what he called Ulcer medicine."

"...maybe thats what he called it. Maybe he didn't want anyone to know?"

She stood with folded arms, shaking her head.

"No...no I'm fairly certain. You see, he stopped taking them briefly, under the assumption he didn't need them anymore."

"How did he _not_ know?" He asked incredulously.

Batgirl shrugged, sighing a sad smile. "I can't go into detail, but I think it involves someone he trusts deeply. I have to admit, I'm still shocked about it myself."

Itzak did not know about Alfred, and it was best it stayed that way. The less aware he was of Batman's personal life the better.

Itzak stood out of his chair, stretching as he did so. He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes, yawning.

"I think I'm as good as done for the night...how long have we been going at this, anyway?"

Batgirl looked over at the digital clock on her computer screen.

"Thirteen hours-"  Obviously, she was accustomed to spending such amounts time in research. Not that Itzak himself wasn't accustomed to it...but still. Thirteen hours was quite a stretch to be sitting down for so long.

Batgirl continued. " we have a medical bed you can crash on...this way." She was about to lead him away when the batphone started echoing its ring throughout the cave.

Batgirl grabbed it exitedly and answered.

"Hello!" She asked. Itzak observed as her facial expression changed from heightened anticipation to joyous rapture in a flash. "Nightwing? Oh, thank goodness!" Her voice sounded instantly light and relieved. Perhaps even on the borderline of tears, but not quite.

Itzak smiled as he watched the exchange between Batgirl and whoever was on the other end of the line.

"Yeah?...wait... _where_? How'd you get... _HOW?_ Oh my _god..."_ She paused for a moment, listening. "Really? He knew it was you? Even with the suit on? ...He's _good._ What else? Yeah. Uh-huh... Really? Are you serious? Thats _great_ news!" She held her hand over the speaker and looked towards Itzak "- They have a lead on the Joker- they might know where he is!"

"That's great!" Said Itzak.

Batgirl removed her hand from the speaker and continued listening to Nightwing.

"Who? ...Oh, that's Dr Itzak...he's helping us with DNA blanketing... He's the man who developed the trace technology..." She paused for a second before rolling her eyes "Yes, I know _that_ too...well, anyway, best of luck... Okay, I'll tell Robin for sure...Oh! and Nightwing..." She smiled. "I'm so glad you're alright. Please come back as soon as you can! Ok...Bye!"

She hung up and turned to Itzak, beaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have you noticed what I'm doing with the Chapter titles?
> 
> Heh heh heh.
> 
> You may have seen them before...if you watched certain animated series...


	19. Working Through Pain

_The New Ha-Hacienda_

Batman was still sitting on the cot, silent tears leaving tracks down his face. Although the pained sobs that had wracked him for several minutes had now ceased, his chest still heaved, his nose still dripped. His hands lay motionless at his side, palms up. It was as though he was only now realising what had happened. His tears would stop all together for several moments- and although he was sure they were over, he'd suddenly find the ache in his chest well up again, and with it, fresh tears. The cycle repeated itself several times.

Harley, who had said nothing the entire time, was now laying at his feet, arms curled up under her chin, legs curving around -but not touching-Batman's own. Like a devoted labrador. She gazed up at him. She understood. He was only now starting to sort through the emotional impact of his trauma. For months, she knew he had buried them. Attempted to repress them. A form of denial,what they called the "first stage of grief". She knew about the anger- he had even expressed his guilt, rage. But now was the despair- A natural part of the grieving process. Where he would realise the enormity of what had happened, yet move into a healthy form of acceptance. The acceptance that allowed him to acknowledge the atrocity, without being ruled by the memory of it.

She didn't offer any words of comfort, or any platitudes of encouragement. She knew how empty those sounded at this stage. How un-necessary they were. Indeed, they were often more of a hindrance to the healing process than anything else. The light of the tunnel would come of its own accord, and she knew that what the individual still crawling through the dark needed most was not a hand-up. They just needed someone to listen. Someone at the other end of the tunnel to wait for them. So she sat, curled around his feet- waiting. Waiting for him to show her what he was ready to do next, and what support he would request. She knew that the moves had to be made by him at this point.

This was her area of expertise, afterall.

At length, after the tears had subsided, and the last of the shuddering breaths at their ease, Batman spoke to her.

"I...I haven't done that since it happened..." He said "I didn't think I needed to until I did."

Harley nodded, curling more tightly around his feet. "You can't "let it go" if it's all still stuck inside you. You have to let it _out_ , to let it _go_."

Batman nodded, and wiped his eyes.

"But...now I just feel...I feel...I can't explain it."

"You're in the vulnerable stage now." Said Harley, as she uncurled herself from around his feet, moving to sit up next to him on the bed. "You're going to start re-establishing your identity. For months you've been living in one state. I'm sure- even though you never showed it outwardly- you're whole outlook was focused on one thing. Survival."

Batman nodded slowly.

"It...wasn't so plain to me."

Harley shrugged. "You didn't earn your Doctorate in Psychiatry." She said casually. "Anyway, most people don't even realise that they've completely rebooted their whole persona to focus on that aspect. Their victim status."

Batman lifted his arms, and wrapped them around himself. "Its a little un-nerving." He said, not fully expressing just how scared he truly felt. He bent forward and placed his cowled head in his hands.

Harley looked across at the man sitting beside her, assessing the situation. She decided he needed a physical expression of support. He needed it to add to his new self scaffolding. She wasn't absolutely sure if he was going to accept what she was about to do, but she didn't care. If he punched her lights out- well, it wasn't any different from every other day anyway, was it?

Carefully, without trying to disrupt his position- she slid an arm around his back in a one-armed hug. Batman startled and leaned back- she paused. Both did. They were still for a few seconds, frozen in their positions. Then- without breaking eye contact- Harley continued to wrap the arm around his back, all the while keeping her eyes locked on his, judging his expression- so that she could know to stop if need be. She stood up on the cot just enough to manouveur herself as he stepped each leg in turn over his own, before sitting down on his lap. Then, finally breaking eye contact, she wrapped her other arm around his other shoulder, laying her head to rest against his chest. She felt the rise and fall of his breast slowing down as his breathing returned to normal.

"It's ok, I get it B-man." She said, giving him a small squeeze. "I get it."

She sat there on his lap holding him around the shoulders, while his hands once again rested limply at his sides. He accepted. It felt good, in fact. Warm. They didn't say anything. It was a comfortable silence. A comforting silence.

Harley couldn't be sure how long she had been sitting there with him like that when she felt it- and at first, she wasn't even aware. But after a while, she noticed the distinct movements...little bumps, poking at her. She actually giggled.

"You really are nervous, B-man, you got butterflies." She smiled wistfully. "You know, it kinda reminds me of when..." She drifted off, her eyebrows furrowed as she leaned backwards, arms holding onto Batman's shoulders for balance. She looked at his face, which only looked back at hers with confusion. Her head began tilting sideways...he could see that her mind was ticking and that she was figuring something out, but what it could be was beyond him.

"What is it?-"

But she couldn't answer, for they were both distracted by the sounds of angered yells and thudding crashes from outside the room. They could hear the distinct voices as they shouted.

_"He must be in there-"_

_"Hold on, I'll take a look...yeah, he's in there- only...there's a woman in there too...and..."_

_"That's Harley...I know how to handle her!"_

_"Nightwing, wait- don't hurt her she's-!"_

A loud crash startled both of them. They turned to face the direction of the noise, Harley still in place on Batman's lap.

They saw the door, fallen in a pile of splinters. Into the room dashed Nightwing, Superman slightly behind him. Harley was in the process of catapaulting off Batman's lap when Nightwing grabbed her, throwing her to the floor. To his surprise, both Batman and Superman cried out at this action.

"What?" Asked Nightwing, incredulously.

But neither had a chance to explain. Harley bolted up and dashed out of the room. Nightwing and Superman shot over to Batman's side, while the sounds of police back-up began ringing throughout the echoing confines of the warehouse. Nightwing patted his mentor on the back.

"You're all right, then! What a relief! What were they doing with you?"

Batman shrugged. "It's a long story..." He looked towards Superman, extending a hand for the other to grasp. "Thanks, Superman."

Superman shook his hand, but somewhat distracted. He leaned over to try and catch a glimpse out the door. "...funny- she doesn't _look_ pregnant."

Batman's eyebrows shot up as Nightwing gasped. "She's _pregnant_..." Nightwing cried. "I totally just threw her to the floor! Holy-"

Batman cut him off. "I didn't know she was pregnant"

"Not just pregnant... several _months_  pregnant. She should be showing by now." Replied Superman

Batman shook his head "But _pregnant_?...How on earth did you come to that assumption?"

Superman shrugged. "I used my x-ray vision to locate you- and when I saw the two of you there- there were actually three of you. Honestly, for a moment I wasn't sure if the fetus I saw was hers or _yours_ -naturaly of course- it couldn't be yours. But it's location was kinda odd. But then I saw she was on your lap...your inner organs were all confusing, I couldn't make sense of what was hers or yours, only I noticed a third heartbeat, and Harley was there."

The colour had begun to drain from the black-clad man's face. For some reason, the revelation by Superman un-nerved him deeply, and he wasn't so sure he wanted to even evaluate why that could possibly be. He looked over to Nightwing, who was biting his lip. Then, as if on cue- he felt another flip in his abdomen- just like the one that had alerted Harley mere minutes before.

"Oh my god..." He looked up again to Nightwing and Superman, both of whom's eyes were now gazing down at his stomach, where he noticed his hand resting over the armour of his abdomen (when did he put that there?). The armour that he only now realised was covering the small curve that he had put down among his growing health concerns. Superman's eyes went very wide- obviously, he was engaging in his Kryptonian-born x-ray vision capabilities. Blinking several times before slowly breathing in, he looked up, making eye-contact with Batman.

"-god, Batman...it was you... you're pregnant!"

Nightwing fainted.


	20. Showdown

Nightwing came to fairly quickly, he gathered himself up and took a seat on the vacated cot.

Batman stared back at Superman, the shock registering on his face.

"What do you see?" He asked, a nervous edge creeping into his voice.

Superman engaged his x-ray vision and once again gazed at Batman's mid-section. Immediately, the image of a small life-form appeared, heart beating, connected by a chord to one side of a small muscular pouch- which must have been the womb. Superman followed the uterus down, looking for a cervix- or some opening. This was extremely bizarre, borderlining on awkward. He could plainly see that on the outside, Batman resembled other men. Normal, considering that normal accomodated a wide variation of body-types. But inside was something else altogether. He resisted the urge to look away, and his mouth opened in amazement as he saw more of Batman's insides.

"You have a womb- you have _everything_ -"

Batman shook his head.

"I don't understand...I can't _have_...I'm not a female-I've always been-" But suddenly everything fell into place. The bleeding of his youth, the fact that he was always different. The reason why his father had told him he could never have kids. Well, never _father_ them. The lowered traces of testosterone in his blood samples from a few months back, when they had read as normal prior to his discontinuing the ulcer medication, despite the fact he had assured Alfred that everything was alright. Trust Alfred to pick up on something that was wrong, especially when it came to the ulcer-

Oh.

Batman suddenly felt extremely light-headed. He could see the room spinning before him, and tried to make for the cot, so as not to find himself planted on the floor with a pounding headache upon awakening. Alas, the world spun out and the next thing he saw was a flash of blue, followed by darkness. Superman lurched forward to catch the falling caped crusader. He held him under the arms and dragged him over to the cot, where Nightwing immediately stood, allowing the other hero to place Batman gently upon it. They stood and looked at each other.

"Well, I guess that wins awkward moment of the year..." Nightwing said, his serious face betraying his attempt at humor.

Superman gazed down at Batman in bewilderment.

"I don't think he knew."

Nightwing shook his head.

"No." He pulled the chair over from the corner of the room and sat down next to Batman, feeling his forehead. "Just another thing to add to the list now" He said in a low voice.

"What do you mean?" Asked Superman, concern growing in his tone.

Nightwing sighed, he stood, beckoning the taller man to lean closer. He spoke softly-

"I don't know for sure...but... we think he may have been assaulted a few months ago. He never said anything-" He quickly looked back at the black-becowled man, still in his faint on the cot. He turned back and continued. "But...now that he's...he...well, I guess it just confirms our suspicions."

Superman gently lifted Batman into his arms. "I'll take him home. It'll only take me a few minutes to get to Gotham." and he left, Nightwing took one last glance around the

small room, activating his communicator.

_Batcave_

Batgirl jolted awake at the sound of Nightwing's voice. She looked down at the consol where she realised she had fallen asleep. Smirking, she wiped away the trace of drool that had collected on the letter "h" with her sleeve.

"Batgirl?" Asked Nigthwing's anxious voice for the third time.

"I'm here- just dozed off-" She rushed, blushing.

"We found Batman-"

Her heart leapt through her chest and a broad smile lit out across her face as she let out an ecstatic whoop of joy. Nightwing's grave tone halted her celebrations.

"There's something you should know before he gets there..."

She held her breath-

"He's...well, its hard to explain..." He fumbled.

She bit her lip- she had a feeling she knew where this was going. She _could_ let Nightwing off the hook and say it for him. But then- suppose that wasn't it at all? What if she gave it away before Batman himself had a chance to know about it?...But then again, it would all come out sooner or later, wouldn't it? Yes. Better out than in.

"Nightwing- " She started, pushing herself to continue. "If its about the uh... _baby_ , I know." She grimaced. It was a thought that was still going to take a lot of getting used to.

"You do?" He sounded quite relieved. "Could you explain how it works to me? It all went by kinda quickly here..."

She was about to begin explaining what she knew of the situation when the cave's monitors alerted her to the presence of another two people.

"Hold on, someone's here-"

"Oh, that'll be them. Superman flew. I'll catch you later then." He cut out.

Batgirl turned to see Superman walking in, a now fully awake Batman walking in beside him. She was tempted for a second to hold herself back, and let them approach at their own speed, but her exitement and relief to see the man alive and well won out. She bounded over, enveloping Bruce in a giant hug. She noticed he looked somewhat dazed. The result of some heavy hitting news?

"Batman- I'm so glad you're alright!"

He pushed right through her embrace and walked past her.

"Bat-"

"I have to talk to someone."

She turned back to Superman, who wore an uncharacteristicly grim expression. He turned to her, nodding his goodbye. He turned to leave, but paused for a moment. He turned back to Batgirl.

"Take care...of..."

"I will." She assured him.

He smiled wanly in gratitude, and left.

_Upstairs_

Batman pulled off his cowl, his eyes fierce. His jaw set. He moved with conviction- barely even noticing the familiar surroundings as they flew past him. He found the stairs and marched up them. He reached the top within seconds, and flew faster and faster until he saw the familiar door. He moved with unfathomable speed. He did not stop until his hand was gripped firmly on the door handle. He took a deep breath, and forced the wet heat behind his eyes to subside before he twisted the knob and opened the door.

Inside, Alfred jumped up from the armchair he had been waiting in.

"Master Bruce! Oh thank heaven's you're alright-"

"Save it!" Barked Bruce in response.

Alfred's mouth dropped in surprise at the uncommon direction of his former ward's anger.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Demanded Bruce, his chest heaving. Voice dangerously low.

"Tell you wha-?"

"DON'T PLAY DUMB, ALFRED!" He yelled, thrusting a fist angrily into the hall table, upsetting an obviously expensive Ming vase.

"About _what_ , Bruce?"

The vase on the coffee table was toppling- rocking back and forth precariously. Alfred looked his master in the eye, who demanded of him again, this time his words slower, more deliberate. More hurt. The Ming vase toppled off the table.

"Why didn't you tell me, Alfred?"

With a forceful jolt of clarity, realisation hit Alfred with the same shattering sensation as the Ming vase that now lay in pieces all over the floor. He looked over to the man before him- the one he had always regarded as family. The eyes of that man reflected the broken, mangled china all over the floor. They also reflected a deep and utter despairing impression of brokeness. Broken trust.

Broken heart.


	21. Sins of the Father

"Why didn't you tell me?" Demanded Bruce, grabbing Alfred by the collar, giving him a firm shake.

"Did you know I wasn't a male?"

Alfred found his mouth completely dry, and could only manage a small, mangled sound that came from somewhere in the back of his throat. Bruce dropped him and turned away, fists clenched tightly, obviously trying to control his gut-twisting rage.

Alfred picked himself up from the floor and took a step back. He observed Bruce for a few moments more before clearing his throat.

"I...I found out when you were fourteen. At the time, I thought it would be best or your well-being to hide it from you- _Heavens_!"

Alfred flinched at the sound of his antique table being flung across the room. Bruce turned back to him, the expression on his face drawing a shocked gasp from the older man. Tears pierced the corners of Bruce's eyes as his teeth clenched tightly. His face was flushed red with anger and pain. He rubbed his eyes on his sleeve before grabbing the sides of his face with both hands. Throwing his head back, his throat gave way to a loud, blood-curdling howl. Alfred could feel the utter anguish in his voice. He tentatively reached an arm out towards Bruce, who lashed back with a fist. Alfred stepped back.

"You thought it was for the _best_?" Cried Bruce "You slipped me testosterone!" He laughed cynically. "You slipped me _testosterone_ knowing full well what sort of risks it could have- and you _NEVER_ told me?"

He kicked at the broken shards of the vase on the floor.

"I THOUGHT YOU CARED!" He cried. He bent over, eyes buried in his hands as he began shaking, wracked with sobs. "and I never second-guessed. Not once questioned. ME. Not questioning because I  _trusted_ you"

"Bruce..." Alfred stepped closer- slowly. "Please understand...it was a different time back then-"

He placed his hand gently on Bruce's shaking back, who raised his head, staring straight ahead with eyes unfocused. Fear began to grip Alfred's chest. Bruce was a depressed man most of the time, but this- this was a new level.

" _Please understand_ -" Bruce said. His voice dark, mocking the words Alfred had uttered moments before. He shook his head. "Then understand _this_ , Alfred." He looked up at the other man.

"Thanks to body parts I never knew about, I'm-I-" He couldn't form the words. His mouth refused to. His mind refused to. "I'm..." He sighed angrily at himself for his lack of courage.

"Is this about...what happened, sir?"

"God damn it, Alfred!" Bruce yelled. "Do you always have to tip-toe around every god-damn thing? Just say it. Just _say_ it!"

Alfred sighed, pain constricting his chest as he felt his eyes begin to prick. He looked away, hands shaking.

"Very well, Bruce. This is about the..." He pushed himself to say it. "Rape?" His voice was pained.

Bruce sniffed sourly.

"So you did figure that out. Good for you." He retorted bitterly.

"I raised you, Bruce. I know when you're hurting-"

"Ha!" Snorted Bruce sarcastically. " _Hurt_. Hurt is nothing on what I am feeling right now!" He stood to his full height and once again broke into an angered rage. It was painful for Alfred to observe- he could see that Bruce was desperately trying to control his anger, yet accommodate it at the same time. 

"Just break something, sir!"

Bruce turned back, his eyes registering surprise.

"Yes," Alfred continued, reaching up to pull a three-thousand dollar painting from off the wall. "Break some of your brokenness with more brokenness." He held the painting out towards the younger man, who stared at it with shock and surprise. He shook his head, pushing it away.

"Broken." He said as he wiped away yet more tears. "This is more than just broken Alfred!" His voice rose, anguish dripping off every syllable. "I have been _emasculated_!" His voice broke in the middle of the last word. Alfred realised that Bruce's throat must have been killing him. He could imagine how red, and raw and painful it must have been at that moment. He walked over to a side-table where a pitcher of water sat next to two glasses. He poured one and handed it to the other man, who paused a moment before he snatched it wordlessly. Alfred spoke.

"That is utter nonsense! You have always been a fine, upstanding man! You will always be that _man_ , Bruce-"

Bruce slowly handed him back the glass, gazing directly into Alfred's eyes with self-deprecating contempt.

"Even if I'm _Pregnant_!"

Alfred's eyes widened in shock. He dropped the glass, grabbing onto the younger man's shoulders.

" _Is that true?_ " He asked in hushed tone, arms trembling.

Bruce nodded.

"How long have you known?" Alfred continued.

Bruce closed his eyes.

"I found out about ten minutes ago."

Alfred let go of Bruce's shoulders with a defeated sigh. "I  _had_ my suspicions- but- I hoped against hope-" He gazed off sadly, shaking his head slowly. "Oh this is all my fault."

Bruce walked over to the armchair, sitting down in it, head folded into his hands. Alfred moved to stand before him. Bruce was silent for several long moments.

At last, he spoke.

"I...don't know if I can ever forgive-" He was forced to pause to allow a shuddered breath."I just wish that you had told me." He looked up with sadness at the man who had raised him. Alfred stood, the stiff and stoic facade beginning to shift. His eyes were red and wet, but there were no tears. He spoke.

"I meant only to do what was best for you by your parents."

"They're dead, Alfred." Said Bruce plainly. "They're dead. The decisions were not their's to make. They were _yours_." He looked up at his childhood guardian with a burning gaze. His voice rose.

"All my life, their deaths have hung over this house like ghosts, if not through grief, then through our futile attempts to do things the way they _would_ have wanted. I never questioned it because I _LOVE_ them. I always will." He lowered his gaze, voice dropping "But they're _gone_. They've been gone for twenty-five years. _Twenty-five years_ , Alfred- that it has been _US_ without them. That's practically my entire life."

"Ever since I was eight, YOU were the one I went to. I cried to. I may have always tried to eminate my parents and avenge their memory, but at the end of the day- _you_ tucked me into bed. _You_ chased the dark thoughts away."

"Anyone could have asked me who my parents were, and I would have said "Thomas and Martha Wayne"...but if anyone had asked me who I missed most when I was at school? Who I waited for in anticipation when it was open-day? ...who I wanted more than anyone else in the world to be proud of me!" He paused. "...Who I _loved_?"

He looked up at Alfred, who had moved over to his bed. He sat down on it, staring down at his trembling hands. A single, wet, silver streak down his cheek.

Bruce continued.

"You broke my trust. Anyone in this universe, _ANYONE_ else...and I could have said "maybe". But _you_?"

"I never intended for it to cause you pain." Replied Alfred in earnest. "Thats why I did it! You weren't as strong then as you are now- I feared for you. I know you wanted to _kill_ yourself"

Bruce looked up quickly, shock in his eyes, but he immediately dropped his gaze.

Alfred continued, a hitch in his breath "...but I- I-" He paused to regain control of the tears that were threatening to turn into sobs. He took in a brief, shuddering breath that Bruce could barely hear. He looked away, blushing in shame. The two men had never been so raw with each other. It was confronting.

Alfred pushed on.

"I realise...it was not the _right_ decision...but everything I ever did for you-" He paused " _To_ you," He added. "Was for your protection."

Bruce scoffed. "Of course! I'm the last remaining Wayne, it was your duty to-"

"No!" Cried Alfred, his voice rising quickly. In the distance, a rolling peal of thunder echoed. "Not " _The last remaining Wayne."_ -that had absolutely nothing to do with it at all! - and you know it, Bruce. I know you do." He stood, turning towards the window, so as not to let Bruce see the tears that were falling freely down his cheeks. Outside dark, angry clouds hung over the horizon.

"I never wanted to be a butler..."He said defeatedly.

"I know." Bruce replied simply. "Like myself, you have your own family obligations to live up to-"

Alfred shook his head.

"At first, Bruce, that is exactly what it was- and I can not lie, the salary has always been very generous...But no." He raised a hand to place it on the glass. Hot summer rain was pelting against the window.

"No. Even if I had been offered the most prestigious role on the West End, I would not have left you, Bruce- for no reason other than that one day, so long ago now." He bowed his head. "When you slipped your tiny, freezing hand into mine-" He folded his hand into a fist,recalling the sensation. He lifted it,placing it at his heart. " I knew I never could."

Alfred closed his eyes, one hand resting on the cold glass, fist un-clenching, dropping limply at his side. He could hear movement from behind him and he assumed Bruce was getting up to leave. His heart dropped into his stomach. He had never felt more lonely. He was about to turn, to clean up the remnants of broken antiques throughout the room when he felt the warmth of another hand slip into his own. His heart jolted with surprise. He turned to see that Bruce stood, face painted a mixture of emotions, his own hand- now much larger than Alfred's, encompassing the other-like that day decades earlier. His eyes were deep with the expression of regret.

"Alfred- I'm sorry." He apologised.

"Oh Master Bruce, _please_ don't be sorry-"

But Bruce collapsed to the floor, wrapping his arms around Alfred's legs. He burried his face into the side of Alfred's thigh as he began to sob.

"I'm so sorry-" He cried, his voice muffled in the cloth. Alfred cradled his head, as he whispered.

"I am too-" and he lowered himself to his knees, still higher than Bruce, holding the younger man to his chest. It was a moment of familiarity. Two men giving comfort to each other, as only a father and son could.

In the distance, the thunder and lighting still pealed, and the clouds still hung thick with grey, but it was beginning to move off.


	22. The Last Laugh

_Ha-Hacienda. Gotham City Location._

"You LET him GET AWAY?!" The Joker was fuming as he paced angrily back and forth. He marched before a certain side-door, out of which Harley was exiting. She ignored his incredulous glare as she closed the door carefully behind her, resting her hand on it lightly for a second before turning. The Joker sniffed and shook his head.

"For god's sake, do you have to spend so much time in there?" He quipped. "It was funny at first- but seriously, kid- the jokes over!"

He immediately made for the door, attempting to shove Harley out of the way. She stood firm.

"Back _off,_ Puddin'.-" She warned, pulling a hand-gun from what seemed like thin air.

 _Clever kid_ mused the Joker

_Clever, but annoying_

He reached for whatever random heavy item he could find on the ground. His hand came upon Harley's own mallet, he grabbed it, grinning at the irony of it all, and began to swing it in Harley's direction.

"Enough is enough, wouldn't you say, _Doctor Quinzel_?" He growled. The next instant, he hurled himself to the floor at the cracking sound of a gun-shot. He glanced up at Harley, smoking barrel aiming at his face.

"You _missed"_ He grinned.

"It was a message." She answered  "Think how much I'm gonna _miss_ you when I actually land the shot-" She cocked the gun again.

The Joker burst into raucous laughter.

"Ho ho, hee hee-ha-ha oh- that's brilliant, Harl- simply _BRILLIANT"_ He chortled. "You'll MISS me- I _love_ it!" He stood to his feet wiping a tear from his eye. He trotted over to Harley and patted her gently on the cheek.

"Funny girl!"

Pat. Pat.

"So cute!"

Pat. Pat.

THWACK

His expression darkened, hand still in the air after the force of the impact. Harley raised a hand to her stinging cheek. They stared at each other for a long silent moment, his eyes dark and judgmental. Her's bright and defiant.

Another _thwack_.

Hand to other cheek now, she pushed the gun into his stomach. His eyes flashed, and a sly grin crept onto his face.

"Drop the gun." He ordered, coiling his hand around her slender wrist, giving it a painful twist. She gasped, but resisted- another twist and the weapon fell to the floor. Before she had a chance to dash for it, he kicked it up and grabbed it with his free hand. Harley began to struggle, she kicked at him- straining at his vice like grip on her wrist. She twisted and turned. The Joker lifted the weapon slowly, deliberately- all the while his grin getting wider and wider, maniacal laughter beginning to echo sickeningly throughout the abandoned warehouse.

Harley shuddered at the sensation of the cold, hard barrel being dug into her temple. She wondered if it was worth saying a prayer.

She closed her eyes, a deafening guffaw lashing at her eardrums. She held her breath.

He pulled the trigger.

...

"DAMN IT, HARLEY!" Cursed the Joker, pulling the trigger again and again, the click-clicking heralding the emptiness of the chamber. To Harley, it could have been the Hallelujah chorus itself.

"You _wasted_ the bullets!" Accused the Joker. He threw the gun to the side. Harley was trembling with relief. In her heart, she felt a small swellof affection for the Joker. He _couldn't_ have wanted to kill her, could he? He _must_ have known it was empty. He was just putting her back in her place, of course. That must have been what it was.

"I'll get you some more, Mister J." She squeaked.

"Don't bother!" He said, frustration and annoyance filling his voice. "I'll get them myself! Anything to get out of the god-damn _nesting box._  The CHICKEN is _BROODING_ again!" He ranted, throwing  glances in Harley's direction.

"You know, _babe"_ He jeered. "It's the chicken who waits too long on her dud-eggs that finds herself a guest at the dinner table-" He stared off wistfully. "Actually- if you wouldn't mind, I'd like roast chicken for dinner. Have it ready when I get back, and _maybe_ I won't blow your brains out. Sound fair?"

"Peachy!" She answered, waving him out the door he left without a backward glance.

"And STAY OUT OF THAT GOD-DAMN CLOSET" He crowed from outside.

Then silence.

Harley sighed deeply. Not that she didn't love her Puddin', but like any good housewife, she enjoyed her time apart too. She knew it didn't do her Mister J any good to stay all _cooped_ up, either.

She decided to do a bit of light reading before moving onto her dutiful business of being a good domestic. She grabbed the most recent newspaper that lay on the floor. Probably a week old, but she didn't care. Old news is still news.

She turned to the commentary section, where Gotham citizens were arguing over the disappearance of their Dark Knight. One man was suggesting that Superman had wiped him out in a fit of uncharacteristic jealousy. Yet another was degrading the Government- accusing them of withdrawing Batman in an attempt to increase crime so that Public Servants of the Police Force could have pay-rises.

All of them ludicrous, she thought.

But it made her wonder. She knew exactly _why_ Batman had stopped in the first place- but now there were other things in the picture. For example- what on earth was going on with his stomach? It made her uncomfortable. She glanced over to the closet quickly, before averting her eyes.

"No. Puddin' said no more of that obsessive business." She gazed down into her lap, one hand absent-mindedly finding its way to rest across her flat abdomen. Shaking her head, she jumped up out of her seat and decided to get about making dinner.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw one of the discarded DNA trace scanner patches. Her eyebrows furrowed. She walked over, and picked it up. She looked over it- determining that it was indeed the one they had collected Batman's DNA upon. Deciding dinner could wait a little longer, she meandered over to the corner of the warehouse dedicated to "science". More accurately- the science of bomb-making and gas collection. But it was equipped with a decent enough (okay, super powerful) microscope. She slipped the patch under it and peered through the eye-piece.

Nothing tell-tale at first. She increased magnification. Nothing. She increased it further- she decided she would take a look at the fundamental parts of DNA. She gazed in- what most people would only see as random criss-crosses, she could see chromosomes. XX-XX meant girl, XX-XY meant boy. Plus a bunch of other combinations she mentally lumped into "outliers".She knew this very well. She had found herself trying to determine chromosomal make-up on more than one occasion.

She gasped.

"B-man! Not a Y in sight!" She pondered over the thought for a few moments. "So Batsy is a Bat- _she_!" She mused "Guess that's why he gets so _moody_ all the time. He's got PMS!" She giggled. "Or _maybe_ he's pregnant" She squawked to herself for a few moments over the absurdity of the concept when she stopped suddenly, eyes widening with comprehension.

She found herself shocked to discover that her eyes had begun to prick. She wiped them quickly.

"Lucky Batman" She sniffed dejectedly. She stood and walked about the warehouse aimlessly. "Lucky batman." She said again. Her insides began to twist, and she felt the beginning pangs of jealousy creep through her system.

"Lucky Bat-frickin'- _Man_!" She stormed cynically. "Huh!" She grunted as she kicked a random trash-can out of the way. It went clashing and clanking about the room.

"Lucky Mister Bat-Fricking-Up-The-Duff-Man!" She grabbed her mallet and began swinging it around and around angrily, building up a great deal of momentum before letting it go. She hoped for it to smash something precious of the Joker's. For some reason she really wanted to hurt him. In some fashion, it was easily all his fault.

The mallet crashed loudly into the side wall, and Harley immediately regretted it. Her heart lurched- adrenaline rushing through her system. She could hear rattling and clinking from within her precious closet. She dashed over, yanking the door open. Her eyes darted all over it, reassuring herself that everything was fine.

She sighed in relief, before closing the door and kissing it softly. She turned around and leant on it, bitterness once again filling her voice.

"He doesn't deserve a baby! What's he gonna do with it? Carry it in a sling while he flings about the city stopping criminals just in time for feeding?"

She rubbed her eyes.

"Batman always gets the lucky breaks! I wish I could catch myself a lucky break once in a while..." She sat sulking for a moment.

Suddenly, her eyes lit up brightly. She walked over to a side table upon which sat a discarded calander. She flicked through it intently. She darted back a few months to that night in April, and then forward a few months. She placed her finger on a date, a smile beginning to creep upon her features. She began to giggle as she grabbed a red permanent marker.

"Perfect timing!" She exclaimed giddily, putting a big red circle around a collection of dates.

"Looks like the stork is delivering here after all!"


	23. Nothing to Fear

_Wayne Manor_

Bright morning sunlight beamed through a gap in the large curtains, falling across the face of Bruce Wayne as he slept. Bruce, having already suffered through a night of restlessness, scrunched his eyes up tight. Sighing in defeat, he kicked back the covers and went to roll out of bed. A firmness in his abdomen caught his attention.

"Oh...yeah-" He murmured as he rolled back.

He lay still on his bed, watching the cracks of light creep across his ceiling. Memories of the previous week pulsed through his mind. He recalled how different his circumstances had been merely one week prior. Back when his whole being was still consumed by the horrific act of violence that had been lashed out upon him. Back when his biggest concern was being caught in a flashback- or taking his anger out on others. Back when he had known nothing that he knew now. Back when the curve of his abdomen was still just a small extra health-concern.

His hand moved absentmindedly to the round bump. It fluttered in response. Like butterflies trapped in his stomach, wanting to flutter away. He briefly wondered what it looked like,but shoved the thought back out of his mind. Disturbing images began to fly through his head, images of a greasy pimped out man, with long black hair tied back and patches of gold and black throughout his putrid smelling mouth. Yet more images of what that man had done. Then things that he _hadn't_ done, but could have. Bruce tackled an involuntary shudder that shook through his body. He could feel the bitter taste of bile working up in the back of his throat. He dashed to the bathroom.

A few minutes later he rinsed his mouth- his retching ceased. As he did so, he gazed up into the mirror. It was hard to believe that just the morning before, he had been pouring his heart out to one of his most prolific female adversaries. She and he had found a common ground, after all.

"Now in more ways than one." He said, noting with disgust the increased development of his chest. His nose crunched into a sneer. He pulled open the medicine cabinet and fumbled through the items within. At length he pulled out an elastic compression bandage. He stretched it out, testing its firmness.

"Not that tight- but better than nothing." He tucked one end under his armpit and began wrapping it around his chest. When the bandage had reached it's end, he gave it an extra tug, ensuring it's tight hold. He clasped the cloth together with the metal clip and lightly traced his hands down his chest, testing it's flatness. He frowned, turning side to side in the mirror, gazing at himself. There was still a trace of roundness. He left the bathroom and made for his closet. He pulled it open and began searching for any items of tight clothing he could lay his hands on.  A few minutes fumbling, he pulled out an old t-shirt of his from his school-days. It was one of the only school items he had chosen to keep. Mainly because it was the item of clothing he was wearing when he ran away from school for the last time.

 _Well,_ He thought, _I guess this is vaguely appropriate_ He wondered whether or not it was worth his time to think about the irony of it. A boy's school t-shirt to cover up this particular un-masculine problem.

He tried to pull the shirt over his head- but it got difficult as it reached his broad shoulders. It was tighter than he expected- but he supposed that would be a good thing. He struggled through it. After a further five minutes of pushing and pulling at fabric, the shirt was still only down to his arm-pits- and digging in very sharply at that. He scoured the room for something to snip at it with, to give him more room. Returning to the bathroom, he grabbed a pair of scissors from the medicine cabinet and snipped the sleeves along the seam under the arm- just enough to enable him to pull the shirt all the way down, without sacrificing too much of the tightness. He traced his hands down his front again, this time more pleased with the results. He avoided looking at himself in the mirror. He didn't want to see himself in that reminder of his difficult time in that school. He dressed.

As he was combing his hair, a knock on the door startled him.

"Come in" He said, the husky deep sound of his post-sleep voice pleasing his ears.

Slowly, the door opened, and in stepped Barbara. She closed it behind her, and rested against it. She didn't walk up to Bruce, not wishing to invade his personal space. At this stage, she wasn't exactly how far that space stretched. She hoped she wasn't encroaching upon it just by being in his room.

"How are you this morning?"

Bruce sneered.

"By that, do you mean "any flashbacks." or "any morning sickness."?" He huffed, then paused, turning to look at Barbara, whose facial expression had not changed. He felt a pang of guilt. "I'm sorry." He apologised.

"You have no reason to be sorry, Bruce." She reassured. "But it is important for some things to be brought into the open, don't you think?"

He nodded.

"There's someone here, in the cave" She mentioned. "We brought him in to help us find you and Nightwing. He's an expert in bioengineering. He's the man who developed the trace technology. Dr Taylor Itzak."

Bruce did not say anything to indicate so, but his eyes registered recognition. He knew the name. He also knew about the man.

"Did you invite him on purpose?" He asked.

"I invited him because he invented the trace technology." She replied.

"Is that the only reason?"

Barbara paused for a moment.

"No." She answered honestly.

Bruce made himself busy with re-organising his dressing table. He made no effort to engage eye-contact with Barbara.

"Then I assume you knew about it, too." He said quietly. Barbara registered the hurt that she could hear in his voice. She stepped closer to him, inching her way bit by bit, but not moving too fast.

"I wasn't going to bring it up because I thought you already knew..."

"I would have _told_ you if I knew." He answered bitterly.

Barbara shrugged. "I wasn't so sure. I was trying to act in the manner that I thought would have been best for-"

"Please." Bruce cut her off. "I can't take anymore "best interest". I've been hearing far too much of it recently."

Barbara nodded.

"I understand."

They were silent. After a few moments, Bruce, having organised and re-organised his dressing table four times, turned to Barbara.

"This Itzak-" He asked. "How long has he...been-"

"How long has he been himself?" Barbara finnished.

"Yeah." Responded Bruce.

Barbara chewed her lip.

"Not sure." She answered. "He's not all that open about his past. But he's been active as a male in the scientific community for six years."

"And he already has a name for himself?"

"I think he may have carried some of his research over, but he remains pretty closed about himself."

"And..." Bruce continued. "Would he be able to answer some of my questions?"

Barbara had to catch herself from breaking into a smile. She nodded.

"He's already waiting. "Whenever you're ready," he said."

Bruce stood, hand unconsciously going to his chest one more time, testing for flatness.

"Its now or never, I guess." He said, as he opened the door, offering to Barbara to leave first.

"You're always a gentleman." She said, with sincerity.


	24. Q&A

Bruce walked along one of the many paths dotting the Wayne Estate, mindlessly observing the topiary and gardens. He had wanted to meet Itzak somewhere private and quiet- but also open. Besides, he rarely had a chance to wander through the grounds, and aside from the deep sensation of dysphoria, he was actually enjoying a few moments for the first time in months.

He glanced at his watch, stomach lurching a little. Itzak would be there in a few minutes.

He wondered what kind of personality the man had. Medical journals and television interviews weren't the most trustworthy indicators of character. Was Itzak a guy's guy? One of the boys? Perhaps not; he was a researcher. Probably more academic. Then again, he was also well documented as being right out there when it came to public protests against discrimination of all forms. Was it possible he was more leftist, politically charged? Could he trust him with the knowledge of his secret identity? Then again, Barbara trusted Itzak, and Bruce trusted Barbara.

He sighed. There was no real way of knowing what a person would be like until meeting them, he supposed. He rested his arms a-top of the vine-coated brick wall that stood as a divider between one quater of the landscape from the next.

He felt a small flutter in his stomach, causing him to frown. Each time it happened, his heart-rate jumped. He felt his stomach lurch. A sense of extreme discomfort shot through his system. Even though he had been feeling them for weeks now, it had barely been two days since he found out what they were. He wasn't used to the concept and he wasn't sure he ever would be.

He checked his watch again.

"Am I late?" Came a voice from somewhere behind, causing Bruce to jump slightly. He turned to the voice, and there stood the other person, dressed casually in black slacks and a white over shirt, with a grey tee underneath. Bruce could tell that there was another vest underneath the shirt. A very tight one. The other man stuck out his hand.

"Taylor Itzak."

Bruce took it.

"Bruce..."

"Wayne, yeah." Itzak finnished for him. "Batgirl filled me in when she told me about it." He paused to check the response of the other man. "I know you would never disclose your identity to just anyone, but these are pretty unique circumstances." He stopped to brush off a feather that had blown onto his shirt. "- and its not like I have never had to deal with a secret of huge magnitude before. You can trust me whole-heartedly, Mr Wayne."

Bruce tried to force an expression other than a frown, but he couldn't muster anything up. So he just left his face expressionless. Itzak smiled in good nature and moved over to a cast-iron picnic table by a pond.

"Mind if we sit?"

"That's fine."

They sat down, facing each other. Bruce folded his arms while Itzak rested his hands, clasped loosely, on the table.

"I'm not a psychologist or anything, so I don't really know where to start." He shrugged. "But I guess I'm here to answer questions you might have. Not only as a professional geneticist, but as someone who has been where you are."

Bruce couldn't help but feel a small sense of resentment. Could Itzak truly understand where he was coming from? True, they had a similar story when it came to the mis-matched body-gender scenario, but that was about it. Itzak certainly didn't know how it felt to be lied to about it. He had known all along who he was. He'd always known his body's secrets.

Bruce didn't even know _his_  until a few days ago.

"Hasn't fully sunk in yet, has it?" Itzak queried. "That's fine. I'm cool to just sit a while. Awfully nice grounds you have. Its great to just sit and be outdoors. I don't get out of the lab much, I'm afraid." He said, leaning back comfortably, enjoying the summer breeze. "Well- except for rallies and stuff like that, I guess." He added.

Bruce didn't respond, so Itzak simply let himself at ease, watching the clouds role by. He nearly commented on the weather, but decided against it. Too cliche. They let time pass.

"Itzak-" Bruce began, after some minutes had progressed in silence. "What would happen to me if I started taking testosterone again, right now?"

Itzak folded his arms and sat up straight.

"Well, you'd rebuild muscle tone, for one."

Bruce furrowed his eyebrows and nodded slowly.

"Would it cause me to...would it end the pregnancy?"

Itzak shook his head. "Unlikely. Depending on what sex the fetus is- it could actually cause them to develop reverse features. Female fetuses would develop male characteristics and vice versa." He paused. "Do you ask because you want to miscarry, Bruce?"

The other man bristled, features remaining stiff. Itzak leant forward. His tone remained completely casual, but with a professional, clinical edge.

"Because you have the right to terminate. In fact, I had a feeling thats what you'd do-"

"I haven't made any decisions regarding that yet." Bruce snapped. Itzak leant back.

"My apologies. I shouldn't be making any assumptions."

Another gap of silence. Itzak remained casual. Looking around the grounds, stretching a leg out comfortably. Bruce began to wonder if it had been worth revealing his identity for this. Harley had been a better therapist, he noted sarcastically. Then again, she _was_ trained. Itzak wasn't a psychiatrist. He should give him the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps he would feel more at ease with Itzak if he knew more about him.

"How old were you when you realised you wanted to be a male?" He asked, serious tone.

"I've always sort of known." Itzak answered honestly. "I mean- I knew that I didn't identify with my "parts" if you will, from when I was about two or three."

"You remember?" Asked an incredulous Bruce.

"Some of it, yes. Other parts have been filled in for me by family."

"And do you still see your family?"

Itzak chewed his cheek. He looked away from Bruce, over to a patch of grass where a small flock of birds sat picking at the seedlings in the grass.

"Not really. But thats more me than them." He looked back down at the table. "Mom accepted me, even Pop made an effort. But no matter what I did or said, I was always going to be their little girl in the back of their minds." He traced the elaborate design of the table with a finger. "I don't like to talk about them. But I guess it can't be avoided when on this particular topic. Family always comes into play"

"Indeed." Said Bruce, images of his family flirting through his mind. "If you don't mind my asking- how old were you the first time you told them? How did they respond?"

Itzak dusted his fingers and returned them to a folded position on the table.

"I'd always corrected them, from real early on. If they said "good girl." I'd say "No, good boy!" I never _ever_ liked doing things with the girls. I didn't feel like I was part of that. I couldn't connect. Everyone, even myself, just assumed I was a tom-boy. But by the time I was a teenager, I just knew it."

"First they divided us for health class. Boys in one group, girls in the other. I saw all the stuff that was gonna happen to me- and all the stuff that wasn't. It really hurt. I knew I should have been developing the broader shoulders. Getting the deeper voice. Somehow, I'd look at all the other guys and just feel like I'd been left behind."

Bruce nodded slowly. "I can relate to that." He said, thinking of the tight t-shirt he wore underneath his other clothes, barely doing their job to suppress a developing feature of his anatomy he didn't feel belonged there.

Itzak nodded and continued.

"Then I started developing the body. Hips. Breasts. I began to menstruate." He shook his head. "I'd always felt like I wasn't quite right down there. But for the first time in my life, I _hated_ my own body. I couldn't stand to look at myself in the mirror. I would try and be the last in and out of the showers- and not only because I didn't feel comfortable bathing naked around people-heck, I hated bathing naked by myself!... But I felt dirty for being in the presence of all the other girls. Looking at them." He chuckled sadly. "They all thought I was a lesbian. Even I did. _That's_ when life really became hell." He folded his arms.

"I actually had to transfer schools, the bullying became so bad. I went through a phase of just trying to fit in. I dressed the right way, spoke the right way. Heck, I even forced myself to date other guys. That's ok for some, but not for me. I'm straight."

"But in trying to change, I nearly lost my sense of self. I had wrongly assumed that by trying to repress my male identity, it would eventually be trained to go away. But it only got worse. A lot worse" Itzak paused to roll his sleeves up, where two long, thick lines trailed all the way up the length of his forearms. Bruce found his own hand falling to rest on his own leg, where the scars from that night in April still remained. Itzak rolled his sleeves back down.

"Its a good thing the R.A of the dorm picked that moment to ask me if I wanted to submit an item for the inter-residence Show Case." He cocked his head lightly, in what Bruce supposed was a half-shrug. Itzak continued. "I ended up telling my parents while they visited me in hospital. They decided to go along with it, I guess- because they didn't want me to off myself or anything. I know they never fully got it though...and my brother" He cut himself off quickly, eyes darting quickly up to Bruce's own. Bruce said nothing. Itzak went on.

"It was a new beginning for me. I did end up going in the show-case. I joined with some of the fellas in my Chemistry class and we did our own rendition of Greased Lightning. It was amazing! We were acting, so it didn't matter that I was dressing as a guy. I felt truly myself."

"By the time I started Medical school, I was going by the name Taylor. I had always liked it, because it was androgynous. It could be either boy or girl. I felt like I wasn't lying."

"Then, things went a little hectic. For reasons I can't go into, I decided to cut myself off from my family. For good." He sighed. "It coincided with my official change of sex in government records, so I changed my name as well. I started taking testosterone and I've truly been myself ever since."

Bruce nodded slowly as he took all the info in.

"Have you...had surgery?"

Itzak shook his head.

"That's a personal question- but I'll answer. Not yet. I'm scheduled for "top surgery"- that is; breast removal, in about three months. As for the other end-" He said, with a nod of his head. "I'm waiting until there's more definitive surgery. At the moment, they can't re-create what goes on down there effectively enough."

"They can't do for you what they did for me?"

Itzak shrugged. "I'm assuming that for you they performed something akin to a "metoidioplasty". That is- turning what in your case was an ambiguous clitoris into a more phallic shape. Here's a question- and forgive me if its too uncomfortable for you, but can you stand up to urinate?"

Bruce was taken aback- that was certainly an unusual question.

"Yes..."

"Then I assume that's because you're intersex condition involved a distended clitoris with the urethra fed up through it. In that regard- you were lucky. Most metoidioplasty recipients can't stand and urinate through their surgically created penises. They have to either sit, or use a plastic device to enable them to do it like "the other boys." He gestured quotation marks.

"Are there no other options?" Bruce asked.

"There is. Phalloplasty. The creation of a totally new penis from flesh on the forearm and thigh. The urethra is fed through it and it can be used to urinate. It can't become erect without an air-pumping device and it doesn't exactly retain sensitivity, so they leave the clitoris intact beneath it"

" I was under the impression that there was complete surgery for it all" Bruce said with surprise.

"Many are. Its a common misconception." Itzak said, a vague trace of sadness in his tone. "Male-to-female transitions are much more succesful, surgically. However, its often harder for them to attain their ideal female presentation." He rubbed his forefinger to his thumb, removing some dust that had gathered there from when he was tracing the metal-work. "You know," He said, a lightly jestul tone sneaking into his voice

"Its often said that a transman can "pass on the street" while a transwoman will "pass in the sheets." He smiled. Bruce managed a small smirk.

"I've never really had problems with women- other than some being shocked at how- er-"

"Small?" Offered Itzak

"Yes."

"Its less valuable than people think. Size, that is." Itzak said, his voice reminiscent of the educational videos they had both watched in school.

The small traces of a smile began to creep onto Bruce's features. Itzak smiled warmly in response. It was good for both of them to sit in each other's company. Man-talking.

"Your friend...Batgirl. She's nice. But uh- she's spoken for, isn't she?"

"She is. Well- not officially."

"By you?"

Bruce was taken aback.

"No- she's. No." He shook his head. "She's kind of like...a sister." He could have added that she was the Commisioner's daughter as well, but decided it was overkill.

Itzak laughed. "Nevermind. I make a point not to date vigilantes. You never get to go out."

Bruce sighed wistfully. "I haven't been out in forever."

A curious look of excitement suddenly sprung into Itzak's eyes. An idea struck him, and he reached out, planting a firm, friendly hand on Bruce's shoulder.

"Let's go somewhere! A bar or something."

Bruce didn't look convinced.

"I...er."

"Oh yeah," Itzak remembered, glancing down quickly at the small round bump concealed by Bruce's sport's jacket. He clicked his fingers.

"There's a game on tonight! You could probably get tickets in a snap!"

"I have a reserved seat for all the Knight's home games-"

Itzak jumped to his feet.

"Perfect! Guys night out! Just what the doctor ordered."

Bruce wasn't entirely sure the exact moment he had agreed to the idea, but two hours later, he found himself dressed and standing in the lobby, waiting for Itzak and the boys. Alfred had declined, games were not his sort of thing. Jason and Dick, however, had been very enthusiastic. Not so much for the game itself, but just to see Bruce up and attempting to enjoy life.

Bruce hoped their exitement would catch onto him. He knew he needed to try his best- for everyone else's sake, if not his own. He had to admit; Itzak did seem like the kind of chum he wouldn't mind getting to know better. His knowledge of genetics and bio-informatics could make him a valuable edition to the Bat-team.

He shook his head quickly. He couldn't seriously be considering returning to the cowl already? He couldn't be recovered and ready to go so soon.

A small flutter in under his skin reminded him of yet another reason he couldn't yet return to his bat-duties.

He was snapped out of his reverie by the approaching of the other three.

"Well, I'm ready to see the Knight's knock those Raiders right off the ladder!" Itzak cheered, fist pumping the air.

"I want peanuts." Dick added. "I love the smell of peanuts."

Jason stood aside a little awkwardly. Bruce realised that he and Jason hadn't really spoken since before he had left. Jason wore a small button, with the Raider's logo on it.

"Twenty bucks says the Knights win, Jay" Bruce proposed. Jason's frown turned into a sly grin.

"Thirty and you're on. I got a good feeling about the Raiders tonight."

"No waaayy!" Itzak cawed. "I know those Knights. They're unstoppable!"

With laughter, and the casting of friendly bets,they left for the game in good spirits.

Several hours later, they returned, the door busting open accompanied by a chorus of "I told you so's" from Jason, who was proudly stuffing his pockets with winnings.

"You know, its wrong to gamble." Admonished Dick, scruffling the younger guy's hair.

"You only say that because you lost fifty bucks, Dick-" He whispered an aside to Itzak. "Plus I had tips that Johnson was gonna be outta the game. He's the only reason the Knights ever win."

"Sppf" Said Itzak in jest "The Raider's had a lucky strike, thats all."

At that moment, they were interuppted by Barbara, who had been sitting in the lounge. Her face was painted with concern, in her hand rested the telephone.

"Bruce-" She said, standing quickly. "I- I just got a call from the GCPD."

Everyone went silent. Barbara chewed her lip.

"Its Kalinsky. He's been found. Dead."

Everyone gasped. The room went cold. From somewhere in their midst, someone let out an anguished groan.

"No-" It called. Pained. Everyone turned to see where it was coming from. They stopped, shocked as they watched Itzak collapse to his knees on the ground.

"Oh god-" He began to sob in earnest.

Dick grabbed him, pulling roughly him to his feet.

"What do you know about Nells Kalinsky?" He demanded, giving him a firm shake. Itzak held one hand over his eyes, shaking his head, sobbing.

"Tell me!" Dick said, shaking him again.

"He..." sobbed Itzak, taking in a shuddering gasp.

"He's my brother."


	25. Two of a Kind

_Gotham City Police Department_

_Commissioner Gordon's Office_

Batman and Batgirl sat patiently in Gordon's office. Following the startling revelation from Itzak, it had been necessary to have him identify the body of his brother, Nells Kalinsky. A man wanted on the charges of illegal pandering and rape.

Batgirl watched Batman as he sat, eyes fixed on one spot of faded carpet. His eyes were acute, but unfocused. He was obviously engrossed in thoughts that she knew she could never comprehend. Rather than probe him, she let him sit with his thoughts. She felt a strong pang of pity for the caped man. His life had gone from bad to worse, and it only seemed to be getting more and more complex in ways that she knew weren't helping his situation.

Her own thoughts were disrupted when Batman spoke.

"Did you have any idea?"

"No" She replied, honestly. "But now that I do, it explains so much." She sighed. "I'm so sorry, Batman, I shouldn't have been so ready to trust him."

Batman folded his head into his hands, sliding them down his face as he looked up at her.

"It must have been Itzak who blanketed Kalinsky's DNA. The reason we couldn't get Kalinsky behind bars earlier was because of the lack of evidence-" He looked out the window. "So its thanks to Itzak that he was out there- he's an accessory to his brother's crimes."

Batman stood, pacing to the window. He gripped the frame as he stared out into the night.

"Enabling crime is almost as wrong as the crime itself."

His gloved hand was clenched in a tight grip over the frame, so lost in his thoughts that he did not even turn when Gordon entered the room.

"The body has been positively identified as Kalinsky by his brother."

Batgirl nodded. "And whats happening with Itzak?"

"We're going to be holding him for interrogation, on suspicion of accessory to crimes commited by Kalinsky. He's paying his own bail, however, so he'll be out as soon as we're finnished questioning- maybe as early as tommorow."

The sound of a fist slamming into the wall alerted the other two to Batman, whose right hand was jammed against the smooth surface of the wall.

"This isn't what I wanted." He murmured darkly. He turned slowly, shaking his head. "I wanted justice...I wanted to help an innocent victim...not this." He shook his head. His whole body looked drawn, every second of the trauma he'd experienced in the previous months loaded into a heavy sack that weighed down on his already overladen shoulders. He shook his head, moving a hand to rest against his forehead. A cramp formed in his lower back, he rubbed it unconsciously.

Gordon looked across at his daughter, who was biting her lip. He slowly walked over to Batman, proceeding to lay a supportive hand on his shoulder. He was taken aback in sudden shock when Batman let out a surprised gasp. Gordon observed the man, whose eyes were now wide, mouth slightly agape. Batman glanced down.

"That...was...I..." But he found himself without words, and could only place his hand across the small mound, secretly wondering if it would do it again.

"What is it, Batman?" Asked a concerned Gordon.

Batgirl was now standing beside him. "Did it just...?"

He nodded, eyes still wide with surprise.

"Did it just what?" Demanded Gordon, "Did _what_ just what?" He added.

Batgirl glanced at Batman, and taking his cue, turned towards Gordon.

"There's something you should know about Batman...but you're going to need a seat. Its a long story."

So they sat, Batgirl explaining the details, with Batman filling in where necessary. Gordon, sitting, only nodding his head. At last, the re-telling complete, Gordon let out a deep sigh. The Batman-in a condition that he did not normally associate with males.

"Well. It changes the dynamic a bit, doesn't it?"

Batman's head shot up, his eyes dark. "What do you mean? If you're suggesting I'm somehow less _capable_ -"

"No, Batman, thats not what I meant at all." He rubbed his thinning white hair back. "But its obvious you can't be out _there_." He said, indicating the city beyond the window.

Batgirl looked between Batman and her father.

"Well..." she started. "Batman hasn't actually made any decisions yet."

Gordon blanched. "You mean a termination." He shook his head, "Pardon the intrusion- but is it still _early_ enough for that?"

Batman noticed the trail of Gordon's gaze to his midrift- which was undeniably beginning to round out. He pulled his cape closer around himself, and stood.

"I would like to speak to Itzak." He declared, making his way for the door.

Gordon sighed and crossed his arms.

"Fine. As long as you're on one side of the bars, and he's on the other."

Batman nodded, exiting the room without further dialogue. The door closed, and the remaining two sat in silence for a moment. Batgirl looked over at her father, who had removed his glasses, rubbing his eyes with index and forefinger.

"What a rotten stream of luck." He said at length, replacing his glasses. He looked towards the masked vigilante Batgirl- who he now knew to be his daughter, Barbara.

"I'm worried about him." He said "This past week has been extremely taxing- emotionally. Physically. Add on top of it everything else that's happened..."

Batgirl nodded. "He didn't sleep last night. He's going to be exhausted." She stretched her arms, giving way to a wide yawn. "Come to think of it-" she said, rubbing her eyes, "I haven't had a lot of sleep either..."

"I'm sure it has been hard on all of you, too."

She smiled sadly. "Nightwing and myself have been alright-" She shared, purposefully leaving Alfred out so as not to betray Batman's identity, "But its Robin I'm worried about...he's really retreating into himself."

"That kid has a lotta rage." Observed Gordon sadly.

"I know he has a lot to be upset for- but up until recently, he had a stronghold in Batman." Explained Batgirl. "and I think Robin feels like he has not only lost his mentor in crime-fighting and justice- but his model for manhood too."

Gordon nodded slowly. "The kid probably feels like every ideal manly figure in his life has been a lie."

"I'd go one step further and say every decent adult figure- this Robin hasn't had the sort of support like Batman and Nightwing- or I- Have had. Even in our moments of digression, we had people who believed in our worth. Robin had no one, not until Batman."

"He needs to know that he hasn't lost his mentor. He's still himself. He's still the same man-" Said Gordon.

"But can we say that?" Batgirl cut in . "At the moment, he can't relate to Batman." She paused. "...and I think that may be because Batman can't even relate to himself."

Gordon nodded slowly.

"Its going to be a job and a half, convincing both of them that Batman is every bit the man he has always been."

Batgirl sighed.

"And that's why I wanted to create that link with Itzak- once we sort out his reasons, maybe we might.... Maybe we're jumping to conclusions."

"Maybe." Agreed Gordon non-commitally.

_Holding cell, Gotham City Police Department._

Taylor Itzak sat dejectedly upon the basic bench that passed for his bed in the cell. His hands were folded in his lap, head bent over. The burly voice of his guard interrupted his thoughts.

"You have a visitor."

He didn't have a chance to approve or object. The next moment Batman walked in, eyes dark and unreadable. He turned to the guard.

"I would like a moment alone, if you don't mind."

The guard squinted and looked Batman up and down.

"Look, I got orders-"

"I'll take it up with the commissioner if you get in trouble." He said, voice rising dangerously. "Now leave us alone."

The guard nodded and made a quick exit.

Batman turned to face Itzak. He noticed a dull ache forming in the small of his back.Ignoring the temptation to rub the ache away, he pulled the guard's vacated chair over and sat down on it. Itzak was still sitting as he had before, hands folded loosely in his lap, head down.

"I take it this isn't a social call." He said. His pitch was characteristically upbeat, but the tone was empty. He looked up at Batman, eyes red-rimmed and wet.

Batman spoke.

"Why did you do it?"

"I have the right to remain silent-"

"This is strictly off the record."

Itzak rubbed his head.

"Look, I _did_ do it- and yes, I have confessed. Thats all you need, isn't it?"

"This is a personal interview."

Itzak stood and walked over to the small, steel sink. The faucet creaked in protest as he twisted it, splashing his face with the ice-cold water that flowed out. He rubbed the excess moisture off with his palms, and turned to face Batman.

"You seek retribution for justice, Batman. Justice has been dealt. A wanted criminal is off the street."

"Kalinsky was murdered. The only answer to crime is justice, not _more_ crime!" He noted with discomfort the rather uncomfortable wave of aches shooting through his lower back. He shifted in his seat, continuing.

"But what's done is done." He gazed sharply at Itzak. "Were you doing it to protect him?"

"No. I love him-" A pause " _Loved_ him" He corrected, "But he went down a path in life that I just couldn't agree with."

"And yet you covered him up. Why? To protect _yourself_?"

"No!" Itzak exclaimed. He paused, clearing his throat as he let himself calm down.

"For our parents." He said quietly "I didn't want them to lose yet another child. Thanks to me, they lost their daughter" He turned back to Batman, finger pointed.

"But I don't let anyone, for one second, think I regret making the decision to transition into my correct life." He dropped his finger, gazing at the floor sadly.

"I just wish it didn't have to come at the sacrifice of _her's_..."

"That girl never existed." Batman stated.

Itzak shook his head.

"Not to me. But to them- to the people they knew. To my own _brother_." He shrugged. "As much as they said they loved me and supported me, I know that there; somewhere in between the lines, they never truly accepted the loss of their precious little _Olivia_."

"So why the change of name?" Batman asked. "If you had no intention of tarnishing it like your own brother has? You could have made things better for them."

"To protect my family. I didn't want any backlash to hit them. The balance of interests- the hate. _I_ can handle the outrage, the accusations and protests of the conservatives. But they couldn't. As long as I had my new identity, the world would know nothing of them. They would not be harmed, nor would I be judged against the person I once was. The world would know Taylor Itzak. No one would remember Olivia Kalinsky."

"So that's why your middle name is Oliver." Mused Batman.

A small melancholy smile slipped onto Itzak's face. "I was named Olivia after my great-grandfather, Oliver. It was practically foreshadowing."

He looked away sadly.

"I also wanted to keep a hold of that aspect of me."

He walked over to the bars seperating him from the Dark Knight

"As much as I _hated_   playing the wrong role- I don't regret or hate "Olivia". For as long as I'm alive, I will always have a small part of that female aspect, simply because of how I was born."

Batman frowned. Itzak pushed on.

"But don't be mistaken for one minute- not one iota of that "Olivia-ness" takes away from my "Taylor-ness.". It doesn't make me _less_ of a man."

"But you don't feel like a whole man." Batman added. "and in your case, at least you had a lifetime to adjust to that."

Itzak shrugged.

"Maybe you're right...but I still have those days when I feel absolutely miserable about the life I have. The wrongness I feel in my body."

"Every day I live as an advocate for trans people." He pushed his hair back, resting his hand on his neck. "But to have been born _right_ \- to just get to _be_ \- thats something I've only ever dreamed about. Living in this world, with this body, is  _exhausting._ Advocating for the rights and recognition of trans-people is _exhausting._ Just once, I would like to wake up and be seen as "just another guy."

He sighed.

"But it seems like I will always be seen as the trans-male. Not a woman anymore. Not a full man. Just...less." He looked up, eyes weighed with sadness.

"Are we less?" He asked, looking across to Batman. He was exhausted. Not just physically, but emotionally too. Batman realised that there was far more in common between the two of them then their mistaken genetic identities. They both lived a life of advocacy that they would not have had their lives panned out ideally. They were two of many people against a world filled with hate, violence and injustice. True, they both made their mistakes. He could not just let Itzak get away with his actions.

But his question- in this world of binaries, where everyone demanded a definite; Right and wrong. Black and white. Male and female.

Were they less?

"No." He answered. "We aren't less. Nor are we more."

"We just _are."_


	26. A Matter of Family

_The Batcave_

Jason sat before the giant computer located in the cave, his shoulders tense as he focused on the screen before him. The entire room was dark, save for the luminescent blue light cast off from the monitor. The glow set his features into an eerie shadow.

The screen had a header that read "DNA Search". There was a bar that currently presented a loading symbol, counting its percentage of completion number by number. The higher the number rose, the more intently Jason watched- 88%, 90%, his fists clenched into tight balls, toes digging into the floor.

94%- His breath began to catch in his throat.

96%, 97%

He held his breath, eyes fixated- dialating in anticipation.

99%. 100%

The screen went blank for a second, waiting for the results page to load. Jason leant forward in his seat, his breath nearly fogging the screen. His eyes hurt, and his proximity to the machine was giving him a headache.

The screen changed. His breath hitched.

" _Result: Inconclusive."_

"DAMN IT!" He cried, crashing an enraged fist into the keyboard. He stood angrily, stomping his foot. "DAMN IT, I WAS SO _SURE!"_ He kicked the swivel chair wildly across the cave. Hot tears pricked the corners of his eyes. Hastily wiping them away, he closed down the computer program, making sure to go into the page's history- deleting it also. He wanted to remain trace-less. This search was his business and his alone. No one else even cared, so no one else was going to know.

He stood there, glaring at the empty computer screen for a few moments before abruptly turning to make his way out of the cave. It had been the third disappointing result in as many months and each time he recieved an inconclusive or negative response, his mood degraded immensely.

Pity the soul who would cross him while he was on patrol _that_ night.

He made his way to the elevator. When it opened, Bruce stepped out wearing a large, dark coloured business suit. A new one, Jason noted. Not that new suits weren't a very regular occurance in the Wayne wardrobe, but this one had been _very_ specifically tailored. Tailored to be rather forgiving of the embellished guts oh so common in the well-to-do world.

Well...that was what Alfred had told the tailor.

The reality was far different, and far far more confronting. In the three weeks that had passed since the whole "abduction thing" followed so quickly by the whole "Itzak thing." Jason hadn't actually spoken to Bruce in any level above the perfunctory "good mornings" and "what's for dinner".

And thats how he wanted it.

Bruce nodded at Jason by way of greeting. Jason nodded back. They stood in silence for a moment. Jason could feel the guilt rising, despite the fact that he was perfectly within his permittance to use the computer. Perhaps it was the concealment of what he was doing...

"I uh- just needed to use the computer. I'm done now." He pushed passed Bruce and stood in the elevator, waiting for the older man to exit. He didn't.

"Jason..." Bruce began. "I remember telling you- several years ago when you first joined us here- that if you need to talk at any time-"

"Yeah, I know." Jason said quickly, cutting Bruce off. Bruce wasn't phased.

"OK. Great. I know I haven't been available for that sort of thing lately- and I want to apologize for that." He paused. "Things are finally getting back to rhythm for me-"

"Oh really?"

Bruce frowned.

Jason smirked. Once again, Bruce Wayne, the very _person_ who had always told him to face up to issues and not to blanket them- was skipping over his own _problem_. Jason felt a distinct sense of injustice creeping into his system. He could feel the anger rising. He felt wronged. As though Bruce could see all of _his_ problems, yet none of his _own_.

It was really, really getting on Jason's nerves.

"You know, Bruce- you need to sort a few things of your own out before sorting out me." A sly grin that could easily have been mistaken for a sneer slid onto his features. " _Its_ not as easy to _hide_ as it was a few weeks ago." He said, eyes quickly darting to the pushed out fabric of the older man's suit.

Bruce's cheeks flushed ever so slightly. Barely enough to notice, but Jason could see it. He smirked again.

"Have you talked to Barbara about that Doctor yet? Sooner is better than later, Bruce-" Jason pressed a button on the elevator wall, indicating his dismisal. Bruce stepped out of the box as Jason folded his arms. "Afterall," He added quickly before the doors closed. "If you don't sort it out _now_ , you're gonna have to take a trip to the attic to break out the baby bonnets and silver spoon, and I'm sure thats _exactly_ what you want, Bat _man_ "

Bruce frowned darkly.

Jason winked as the door closed.

"See you later, _pops_..."

...

The door clenched tightly. His grin immediately dropped from his face.

On the other side of the elevator, Bruce Wayne rubbed his face tiredly. He made his way over to the computer and sat down. Deep down, he knew Jason was right- even if his attitude about the whole affair was less than helpful.

Bruce arched in his seat as another aching spasm rolled through his back. He leant forward and tried to rub it out. Giving up, he slouched back into the chair, sighing.

He logged onto the computer and pulled up a page from his bookmarked files. It was a forum. The banner at the top of the page was green, with a soft white font, curling along the page. There were plant motifs covering the page. The page was named "Pandora's Project", and under the header was a small sub-heading.

" _Support and resources for survivors of rape and sexual abuse._

He had finally used the now crumpled paper that Gordon had slipped into his hand all those months ago. Following his encounter with Harley Quinn- which he had eventually admitted helped him in ways he could never have known, Bruce had found it easier to deal with what had happened. He was a _survivor._ Although he knew he would be dealing with the consequences for the rest of his life, he was beginning to enter a state where he could seperate the fear from himself. Where he could function, once again, as himself. It was just as Quinn had said- until a certain point just under a month prior, he had been enitrely driven and defined by the atrocious act that had been held against him. True, even though he didn't acknowledge it-going so far as to ignore it, it still occupied his every thought. Even his very dreams.

Most nights, they still did...

But now he knew he could wake up, and breathe in relief- knowing that the light of morning would be just around the corner.

His fingers tapped across the keyboard as he signed into the forum, under the alias "justanotherguy" . He entered the section designed specifically for the male survivors. There they were, topic after topic about surviving assaults. All by men. He wasn't alone. There were men out there, just like him.

Well, almost.

He finnished typing his response to another user and exited the page. He brought up a fresh screen. His fingers floated hesitantly over the keys. He paused, glancing side to side briefly, before letting his fingers meet the keyboard. He typed a command into the search prompt, then hitting the return key, he waited.

Immediately, the page was filled with thousands of results. He entered the first one. It was a question and answer website, where people could anonymously post questions and have them answered by other anonymous users. The question was one he himself shared with the user.

"How late is too late to have an abortion?"

The answers varied, but many, he noted, were quite adamant that abortions shouldn't occur at all. Further investigation into the page revealed that the question had been posted on a religious forum, which meant biased answers. What he wanted was a straightforward scientific or legal answer. How late was too late?

"I personally think it should happen before trimester two" Came a voice from somewhere in the cave. "...after that, and I think its too close to call" The female voice came from behind. Bruce cursed himself for not checking directly behind himself before proceeding. She was in his blind-spot.

Barbara walked up to Bruce, standing beside him as she looked up at the screen. She continued.

"But then, I don't think anyone should be told what to do with their bodies...and given the circumstances..." She looked down at him. "Not only for the fact that you're a, well, an identified male, but how the baby was _conceived..."_

Batman nodded. "and add into the mix who I _am._ " He sighed.

At that moment, the elevator opened. Jason burst out of it, face painted sourly. Behind him paced Dick, who was obviously in the middle of a heated lecture directed towards the teen in front of him.

"Furthermore, Jason, you don't have any right to use the equipment for your personal interests!"

Jason stopped and turned to face the other.

"Its NOT an _interest!_ Its a personal mission!"

"Thats not the point, Jason- You should inform us of how you're using the equipment. What if you stuffed it up?"

"I'm NOT an idiot, Dick!"

"And I'M not BLIND, Jason! You think I haven't noticed your stinking attitude these last few months? You think I haven't seen the _risks_ you've been taking with crime-fighting?"

Bruce cut in.

"Both of you, _shut up_!"

They did. Dick glared down at the younger ward, who stared off bitterly into nothing. Bruce moved to stand in front of them.

"What is going on here?"

Both were silent.

"Dick?" Bruce said, turning to face his eldest ward.

"Oh that's right" Spat Jason angrily. "You always go to him first because you assume he's the one you can trust to tell the truth!"

"That's because I _do_ tell the truth." Dick retorted cooly.

"Oh, you're just a big pile of shi-"

"ENOUGH!"

Both retreated back into silence. Bruce's analytical mind quickly pulled pieces together.

"Jason, what exactly were you using the computer for earlier?"

The youth rolled his eyes and shook his head, glaring off into the darknes of the cave.

"Jay, I'm gonna give you the benefit of the doubt and trust that you haven't done anything you're not supposed to."

Dick sniffed huftily, but didn't say anything. Jason furtively cast his eyes over to meet Bruce's own, before looking away again.

"I was just doing some research."

"Thats fine. You're permitted to do that." Bruce said to him. He turned to address Dick. "I don't understand why this is such an issue, Dick."

"Thats because you haven't seen how _much_ Jason has tampered with. He's been using unauthorised and government sanctioned programs to perform his searches!"

The sound of tapping alerted everyone to Barbara, who was speedily searching the computer databases and files. She turned back to them.

"You can't get rid of all the evidence, Jay- it's true."

"It _wasn't_ illegal!" Jason blurted.

"No, but its not regulation- and your acquisition of it is questionable. They wouldn't give it to just anyone..." Answered Dick

"I'm ROBIN, I'm not " _just anyone"."_

" _I'm_ the only one authorised for the acquisition of technologies for crime-fighting use-" Said Bruce, his voice dark.

"Yeah?" Retorted Jason. "Well, Mr _Pregnant_ , you haven't really been out THERE since you took maternity leave!"

" _Jason!"_ Hissed Dick.

Everything went extremely quiet. Barbara was biting the inside of her lip. Dick gazed at Jason, mouth slightly ajar, shaking his head in disbelief. Bruce wasn't sure what to feel, but his eyes were locked into the hot, defiant glare of the young Robin.

"Tea, anyone?"

Everyone turned towards the voice of Alfred, who stood with tray. His fists were clenched tightly around the handle, his eyes cold - directed at the young Jason.

Jason huffed.

"You're all against me." He said in a voice so low, barely anyone could hear it. He was shaken to attention by the vice like grip of Bruce around his shoulders.

"I'm _not_ against you, Jason."

"No." Jason replied, his voice becoming void of expression. "No, you're not against me. You don't even care. You're too preoccupied." His eyes dropped, but Bruce could see what he was thinking. Everything Jason had said earlier came back to his mind.

"You want me to get an abortion?" Bruce asked.

The temperature in the room felt as though it had dropped ten degrees. Bruce gazed into the eyes of the young man under his grip. He let him go.

"Fine. That's your vote in."

" _What?"_ "Bruce, no!" Dick and Barbara both cried out at the same time. He turned to face them, grimacing as another wave of pain shifted through his back.

"Seeing as I can't decide what to do, I'm putting it up to you guys. What do you think I should do?" He looked about at each of them, in turn, including Alfred who was now placing the tray on the table, rushing over.

Bruce continued.

"I have always trusted your opinions in the past. Whatever the majority thinks is probably the best idea."

"Then I'm putting in my vote for abstention." Put forth Barbara. "You already know what I think, anyway, Bruce. Its your body."

Bruce felt a sharp sting at the base of his back. He grimaced, rubbing it, as he turned to Dick.

"Dick?"

"Bruce, you can't...you can't ask _me._ "

"Please, Dick." His voice hitched, the ache in his back was now resonating throughout his body.

"Then...I think you should put it up for adoption...if you don't want to keep it."

Jason sniffed cynically, but was shushed by Barbara.

Bruce grimaced as he turned to Alfred. The ache was becoming very pronounced.

"Alfred- your opinion is highly important to me."

"Bruce, are you-?" But his voice was cut off by Jason's as it rose over his own.

"Bruce, keep it or get rid of it!" Jason heaved, eyes filling with tears. "But you can't just frickin' _abandon_ it."

"Abandon...what do you mean?" Asked Dick incredulously.

Barbara shook her head. "Jason, adoption isn't abandonment- its-"

"When a parent can't stand up to the task, they abandon the kid to a life of not knowing, raised by other people. Raised in a _lie._ "

Suddenly, the rising frustration in Bruce's- in everyone's- emotions dropped. In their minds, they all simultaneously understood.  
  
 _Oh_

 

Jason quickly wiped his eyes with his sleeve. Still heaving, he folded his arms and stood there. Bruce began to speak.

"Jay, I acknowledge that what happened with your biological mother was a horrible truth to discover, but what happened to you- if I chose to go that route- it wouldn't happen to this..." He paused- stopping just short of referring to the fetus as a child. He continued "it wouldn't happen in this situation. I'm Batman. I make real sure that everything I endeavor to do is followed through to conclusion. That includes finding an appropriate home."

"Appropriate isn't enough." Replied Jason cooly.

"But it will do." Bruce said. He turned to face Alfred- inwardly cursing the increasingly intolerable pain shooting through his back and sides.

"Alfred- you never got to finnish your answer."

Alfred was anxiously twisting his hands together, dashing forward.

"Master Bruce, I couldn't help but notice- are you alright? You look to be in pain."

Bruce went to shake his head, but the sudden and crunching pain in his side began to radiate throughout his front. He gasped, hurling forward to clasp one arm around his middle, the other grasping to his knee for support. Everyone in the room- Jason included- dashed towards him. The pain consumed him. In the corner of his mind, as they moved him into the infirmary, he could hear Dick.

"He's not having it now, is he?"

"He's only 20 weeks, Dick-" That was Barbara...

"What does that mean?" Asked Jason, voice high-pitched with worry.

"It means if he has it now, it won't survive." Alfred informed him matter-of-factly.

Bruce could sense Jason pausing, halting behind them.

"...no- I didn't mean. Oh god- this is my- did I do? oh _god_ "

As Alfred, Dick and Barbara helped Bruce into the medic room, he could only register one emotion. One he had never imagined he could have in regards to the situation. But there it was- in his heart. Fear- and it was gripping, but not the same ice-cold grip that clasped his soul everytime he thought of Kalinsky and that night.

This was different.

This was _very_ different.

His mind dashed back to that day- when Superman had told him what he had seen. Describing the features of the small thing within him. Telling him so many things about it during the flight back from Metropolis.

Bruce curled his arm around his aching side, hand resting protectively over his abdomen.

"Its Ok, Bruce," Whispered Barbara, as she brushed the hair back from his face to comfort him. He grasped her shirt- the pain nearly enough to cause him to black out.

"Save..." He gasped. "Please, Barbara-"

_"Save her."_


	27. Second Chance

_The Batcave Infirmary- several hours later_

Barbara turned down the infirmary lights as she left the room, Alfred following shortly behind. Both bore the expressions of exhaustion, but there was relief in there eyes.

"That was amazing, Alfred- you really ought to consider becoming a doctor." Barbara commended the butler in awe-filled tones.

"Nonsense, Miss Gordon- if it weren't for your quick wit and research abilities,we wouldn't be so lucky." He sighed, rubbing his eyes with his index and forefinger. "Its amazing we even had the dose of Turbutaline here."

"Well, you know Bruce." Barbara chuckled. "He likes to call Supe' the ole big Blue Boyscout, but in reality he's the one who is always prepared." They came to the elevator and paused, waiting for it to arrive. Alfred spoke.

"Now the trick is to get him to take those tocolyctics."

"I'm sure that won't be a problem...you heard him in there, didn't you?"

Alfred smiled softly, nodding his head. Barbara continued.

"I have a feeling the real tricky part is going to be finding an obstetrician- one who can keep a big secret!"

The elevator opened, and they proceeded upstairs to the main house. They could see into the study, where Dick and Jason were both sitting stiffly in the large stuffed armchairs. They looked so tiny, both stuck in their thoughts. Alfred cleared his throat, causing both to spring out of their seats.

"Barbara, Alfred!" Cried Dick

"Is he o.k?" Asked Jason, frantically. His features were strained, and Barbara could see he was trembling. She walked over to him, wrapping her arm around his tense shoulders.

"He's fine. They both are. We managed to stop the labor from progressing."

Jason stiffened for a brief moment at the contact, but relaxed, before sliding out. His face was visibly relieved. He glanced towards the elevator.

"Can I see him?"

Alfred shook his head. "It would be best to let Master Bruce rest until morning. I'll be staying down there with him, of course...but right now he needs to sleep."

Dick and Jason nodded.

"Well, I guess we'd both better get to work then." Dick announced, pulling the Batman cowl over his head. "Come on, Robin."

"Take care, you two." Said Barbara, looking at Dick.

"We will." 

Barbara bid her goodnight to Alfred, and made her way to bed. She would wake up a bit later to man the cave, but for now she was looking forward to sleep. Alfred, of course, returned dutifully to his post in the cave's infirmary.

He entered the room. The lights were dulled enough for him to continue to be able to monitor the machines that recorded various heart rate. He walked over to the bed where Bruce lay, eyes gently closed with the peace of sleep,chest rising and falling, left hand resting on the side of his round abdomen. Alfred noted to himself how much calmer Bruce looked when he was asleep. The worries of a lifetime floating away. He checked the drip that administered the drugs, a small pang in his heart reminding him of the years and years he had spent lying to the man in the bed before him.

With angst, he wondered if Bruce's life would have panned out differently, had he been honest. He chided himself- of course it would have. He clenched his fists, the anger he directed at himself rising. He had risked far too much with the secret. Far too much damage to the man he considered his son. What had he done?

His fists unfurled.The past couldn't be changed now. What had happened, had happened. That was past. The future was ahead, and in that future?

He recalled with stark clarity the events of the hours earlier. How Bruce had grasped onto Barbara. What he had said. He didn't shout, or cry out. He did everything Alfred requested with a level of compliance he had never before demonstrated. Then there was that moment when Alfred had used the Ultrasonic machine.

Bruce's eyes had opened so wide. He gaped in awe of the small figure on the screen. Alfred recalled how the younger man had zoned out- completely forgetting everyone else in the room. His entire focus was on the small hands that were so clearly little hands. They were splayed out- all fingers distinguishable.

Then they couldn't see her anymore.

Bruce's hand was covering the screen- his large fingers resting on the small ones portrayed on the monitor. His eyes had been so alive, so awestruck. Love-filled. Alfred recognised the look. The strong tug of parental love that enveloped and overflowed from the heart right into the eyes. It was one he had seen in the eyes of Bruce's own mother and father whenever they cooed over him as an infant, or smiled proudly at him when he was a boy. He had seen it in their eyes.

...and maybe even his own, occasionally.

Alfred smiled down at the round bump. It was more obvious now that Bruce was wearing the hospital gown. Alfred felt his hand twitch, then- with a brief glance to make sure his master was still asleep, he rested it- ever so gently- on top.

"Hello, Little Miss." He said in a voice that was so-very nearly a coo.

"Hello."

 

 

 


	28. Never Too Late

_Wayne Manor- Bruce's bedroom_

Bruce sat propped up by the extra fluffed pillows (fluffed approximately every twenty minutes by his ever doting butler). On his lap lay a magazine which he was perusing without much interest. He sighed and looked over at his bedside digital clock, which read the hour and date. He knew that Alfred would reappear within the next ten minutes. Reaching over to the water on the table, he took a sip. As he lowered the glass, a knock came from beyond the door.

"Master Bruce-" Announced Alfred as he opened the door.

"Alfred, you know you don't have to knock..." He said sincerely "I wasn't expecting you for another ten minutes though." He added with a small cheeky smirk.

"Indeed, Master Bruce. I have it set to an alarm on my wristwatch." Replied Alfred in a deadpan. "However, it would appear you have a visitor."

Bruce's brow furrowed. They relaxed again when Alfred stepped aside to reveal a plain-clothed Clark (sans his usual glasses).

"Just came to make sure you're staying out of trouble." He said. Bruce raised an eyebrow, noting the slight red tinge suddenly appearing on Clark's cheek, disappearing just as quickly.

"Well...uh, take a seat, I guess." Offered Bruce. "Thankyou, Alfred." He said. Alfred nodded to both and took his leave. Clark pulled up a chair that had been sitting close to Bruce's bed.

"Get a lot of visitors?" He asked.

"Only the kids." Replied Bruce.

This time Clark raised his eyebrow.

"Don't you think they're a bit old to be called kids? How old's Dick now...twenty-two?"

"He's twenty-four."

"There you have it." Clark said, raising his arm as if to demonstrate his point. Bruce shrugged.

"They'll always seem young to me."

Clark smiled. "You mean they'll always be "the kids" to you? _Your_ kids, I mean."

Clark's smile turned to a frown in echo of the one that was cast over the other man's face. Bruce looked away.

"I...I'm sorry. Is that a touchy subject?" Apologised Clark.

Both went silent for a moment. Clark gazed at the bed-bound man before him unwaveringly. He was startled out of his reverie when Bruce spoke.

"I'm worried about Jason." He said.

"You wanna talk about it?" Suggested Clark, to which Bruce threw an incredulous raised eyebrow which Clark took to say "obviously". Clark cleared his throat sheepishly and continued. "What's the situation?"

"I honestly don't know where to start..." Bruce admitted.

"Well...why don't we start with her." Suggested Clark, indicating the rounding bump that Bruce's hand rested lightly over. "How is she?"

"She's ok." Answered Bruce. His facial expression looked uncomfortable.

"What's wrong?"

Bruce's eyes furrowed, he rubbed them quickly to alleviate the sudden sting. He looked up at the other man, his face once again painted in a mask of non-expression.

"...I can't keep her, Clark. " He said. "Thats why Jason is so angry with me." He sighed.

"He disagrees with adoption. He sees it as a form of abandonment...but I couldn't bring myself to terminate, especially now." He shakes his head sadly. "But there's no way I can keep her. I'm no parent."

Clark sighed and rested his hand on his cheek.

"You're already a parent to those boys. Bruce, why do you seek to punish yourself all the time?" He asked.

"What do you mean by that?" Bruce said, suspicion creeping into his tone.

"I mean...why can't you let yourself have some happiness? "

Bruce shook his head. "That's not what this is about...I _can't_ be a parent, it would-"

"Interfere with your vow. I _know_ , Bruce." Clark said, finnishing Bruce's sentence. He looked into the other man's eyes. "I know."

The two went silent, Clark gazing steadily at Bruce, who stared back with equal intensity.

"Why are you here, Clark?" Asked Bruce, coldness creeping into his tone.

"To convince you not to give her up."

"Why is that any concern of yours?" Snapped Bruce.

"Its obviously affecting you. I can see it in your eyes, its tearing you apart!"

"Oh?" Retorted Bruce, voice dropping to a dangerous tone. "How about I was _raped_ , then _kidnapped_ , then forced to meet my assailant _face to face_ \- none of that entered your mind? None of that counts?" He squinted at Clark. "Maybe I don't want to stare that _reminder_ in the face everyday till I die."

The mood in the room dropped as the two men continued glaring with brash intensity at each other.

"But thats not true." Said Clark at length. "I know its not true.- Look at you" He said, looking down at Bruce's abdomen "You haven't moved your hand once the entire time I've been here. If anything, you cradle it protectively everytime you get angry."

Bruce huffed and turned his head away.

"Its not the right time for me, Clark..."

"When will it be? You can't take her back."

Bruce's lips stretched into a thin, tense line.

"I was prepared for the fact I would never be a father. I adjusted to that. It came in handy. I would never be distracted from my duty."

Clark surprised Bruce with a cry of disbelief. He raised his arms in the air and brought them crashing back to his legs as he stared Bruce in the face.

"How on earth can you say that? You've done such a good job with Dick and Jason."

"I beg to differ. They've made their own manhoods. I just provided them with an outlet."

"And maybe thats all the parenting they needed! What matters is that you saw the need and adjusted your life around theirs to bring them up the best way you saw fit."

"But what if I'm _WRONG_?" Cried Bruce in response. "Everyday! Everyday I see the evidence of my mistakes with them staring me in the face. Dick and his desperate desire to be seen as independant of me. Jason and his undying anger...the more I see it, the more I feel like I failed them. I didn't do them any favors."

"Those are just aspects of their personalities. Its nothing to do with you."

"But you can't be sure."

Clark stared intently at Bruce, saying nothing. Bruce tried to read his expression, but found himself gasping in shock when he found his hand suddenly enveloped in the Clark's own.

"Clark...what are you-?"

"What if I said you didn't have to do this alone?" Clark said, cutting him off. "You don't have to feel like you're going solo here."

Bruce slipped his hand out from under Clarks and shook it, before folding his arms across his chest. Clark's expression took on a hint of sadness before he covered it up. Bruce felt a small pang of guilt and unfolded his arms. Clark sat back down, hands resting openly on his knees. They were quiet for a few long moments. At length, Clark spoke.

"Can I see her?"

Bruce nodded, leaning back on the pillows to free his abdomen up. He felt a little exposed as Clark gazed intently at his round bump, but relaxed when Clark started describing his vision.

"Wow...she's getting big now."

Bruce's lips relaxed out of their plastered frown. Clark continued.

"I can see her facial features...its your nose. Not your chin. Thank goodness." He looked over at the intimate family photo of a younger Bruce and his parents from some holiday, years earlier. "You know...she kinda looks like your mother."

"Really?" Said Bruce, all prior anger dropping from his voice.

"Yeah...well, heh...its kinda hard to tell for sure." He looked up at Bruce with a glint in his eye. "She's sucking her thumb."

Clark grinned as he saw the small smile playing on the corner of Bruce's lips. He went to speak- but hesitated.

"I..."

"What?" Asked Bruce

"Nevermind." He mumbled, blushing lightly.

"No, come on. What is it, Clark?" Asked Bruce.

"Well...I was just gonna say...its, uh...nice when you" He blushed. "...smile."

Bruce's smile disappeared. He shifted his focus to his belly.

"What's she doing now." He said, redirecting the conversation. "I can feel her moving..."

Clark cleared his throat and returned to his observation. He chuckled.

"Yeah, she's moving alright- oh, heads up, it looks like she's about to-"

"Ooff!" Grunted Bruce, rubbing his belly with a small grin.

"Yeah." Chuckled Clark. "Future soccer player." He paused. "Or sidekick, maybe?"

Bruce's expression once again darkened.

"Not again, Clark. Please." Clark felt a lurch in his chest at the pleading tone in the other man's voice. He leaned back in his seat, watching the other man with an expression of softness. An ache in leg led to Bruce shifting in his bed, he tried to move his pillows but struggled a bit. He raised hand in protest when Clark bolted up to assist him.

"Its fine, Clark. I'm pregnant. Not an invalid."

Clark sighed and sat back down.

"Why won't you let me help you?" The question was loaded, and Bruce knew it referred to so much more than the fluffing of pillows. He sighed.

"Clark..." He wasnt' sure how to start. He knew that he was about to enter territory that could feasibly change the entire way the two of them interacted and worked together. But, he decided it was now or never. He gulped silently, suddenly finding his mouth very, very dry.

"I...I know how you feel about me" He raised a finger to silence the other man as he began to splutter. "Let me finish."

Bruce looked over to Clark. His expression was apologetic. Clark shook his head.

"No. You don't have to say anything."

"I think I do." He sighed, rubbing his neck, fumbling to find the right thing to say. "Look, Clark, its not that I don't consider you a valuable _friend_. Possibly my very _best_ friend."

"But..." Inferred Clark

" _But_ I...I'm not _that way_. Not that there is anything wrong with that." He sighed. "I don't know whether that makes me straight or gay or whatever. I'm just...I'm not going to change my orientation because of what's happened."

"I never suggested you would-"

"I know. But...the feelings you have for me...however deep they go or not...I can't reciprocate them. Not beyond friendship. Brotherhood."

Clark rubbed his eyes.

"I should never have come."

"No." Replied Bruce earnestly. "I'm glad you did. In a way, it needed to get out in the open."

"But now its going to be awkward...things will change."

Bruce smiled softly. "No they won't. The only difference now is that you know that I know." He thought for a moment, wondering if his statement made any sense.. "Yeah, thats right."

"Besides" He added. "You love Lois."

Clark nodded.

"I do. I love her very much. Its just...I..I can love more than her without losing _any_ of my love for her. She knows this. She supports this."  
  
Bruce smiled gently.

"Go home to her. You're both lucky to have each other."

Clark smiled sadly as he stood, extending a hand, speaking as they shook.

"And Gotham is lucky to have you, even out of commission. But no one in this world is luckier than those boys...and her."

He then took his leave. Bruce sighed and lay back on his pillows, before Alfred came in to fluff them yet again.

_The Ha-Hacienda_

Harley Quinn, psychiatrist formerly known as Harleen Quinzel, was flipping through a classic dile-a-dex seeking out a number.

"Bingo!" She said triumphantly, pulling out a card. "Let's see if the ole chum-ette still answers the phone to her favorite college room-mate of all time!"

She grabbed the old, yellowing telephone and dialled the number. She held the reciever up to her ear, grinning. The other line rang a few times before someone picked up.

"Hello, this is Dr Winslow West."

"Winnnniiiie, ole pal!"

"Oh god-"

"Say, hun, you still practicing obstetrics?"

The person on the other line was silent for a moment before speaking.

"Look, I can't do you anymore favo-"

"No no, baby, this one ain't for _me_ this time, I swear." She glanced down a the calender in her lap, the dates circled with a small, cute bat-symbol drawn within.

"Well, only just a teeny bit." She could here the other line shifting- she had to act quick, it sounded as though Dr West was going to hang up. She spoke

"Its worth a whollle lotta money. Maybe even fame"

The other person paused.

Harley grinned. She _was_ going to get her way, that was for sure.

"Come on, Winnie, you can't deny that fame was all you ever wanted. This time it'll be handed to you on a silver spoon!"

The other person sighed.

"...Tell me what it is, and I'll consider it."

"Weellll," Began Harley, a sly grin plastering her features. "You ever heard tell of male pregnancy?"

"...keep talking." Replied the voice. Harley grinned when the door suddenly burst open.

"Yeah, I'll say- keep talking!"

Harley gasped in shock as she gazed over at the tall imposing figure of the Joker, still splattered with the congealing red remnants of his most recent escapades.

His face was twisted into a frightening composition of both disgust and intrigue. He stalked over to Harley, grabbing the calender out of her lap. He glared at it confusedly for a few moments, before his eyes widened at contact with the red markings- and the bat-symbol. He drew in a long, drawn out gasp.

The soul-shuddering screech of his laughter could be heard a district away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Initially I didn't intend for Winslow West to be related to Wally, it was a coincidence. Now I'm not sure- as the sequel I intended to write has been left long by the wayside. I have to think on it more XD


	29. Joker's Favor

_The Ha-Hacienda_

"Ole Batsy's up the _duff_ , eh?" The Joker was bent on himself in a bout side-splitting guffaws. The sound of them echoing off the walls of the hideout sent tantalizing shivers down Harley's spine. She smiled- There was nothing she loved more than when her Puddin' was laughing. It meant things were going right. Most of the time, at any rate.

The Joker's laughs were only just beginning to die down into hiccoughs. With effort, he stood straight, wiping the mirthful tears from his eyes as he shook his head. He took a deep breath, letting it all out in one last contented sigh as he walked over to Harley, squeezing her cheek.

"You clever, sweet thing. What a perfect present!"

Harley's eyes lit up, her heart beating rapidly in her chest. What did he mean? Could it be? No!...Surely not...Did _he_ want the same thing as her afterall? She hardly dared to ask- but she didn't have to. The Joker shoved his hands into his pockets and began laughing anew.

"Batty ole bat will NEVER recover from it!" He giggled menacingly. Harley raised an eyebrow.

"Recover from what, boss? ...Childbirth?"

Joker snorted and waved a hand dismissively.

"Don't be stupid, Harley old girl- I'm talking about this wonderful opportunity! This _brilliant_ scheme!"

"Wh-what scheme, boss?" Her mind raced through a few of the many thousand potential outcomes of a Joker scheme- none of them promising. Perhaps it wasn't so positive that he knew now, afterall. He waltzed over to Harley, wrapping one arm around her shoulder.

"Oh come on, Harley- you know this one!" He raised an arm in the air dramatically, voice lifting as though he were about to start telling a joke.

"What's the quickest way to mess up someone's life and make them miserable forever? Hmm?"

Harley didn't answer. The Joker rolled his eyes and mimicked a few punches into the air, a couple high up- face height.

"The ole one-two!" Joker chuckled as he threw a few more punches.. "Knocked-up? Knock 'em around!" He finished with a carefully aimed kick. Harley could see how it was aimed- low enough to cause no damage in any regular fight, but to someone carrying _cargo_...

"Soon enough, Bye-bye baby!" He broke into a loud guffaw. "And Bye-bye Batman! If I've learned anything in my career- its that most normal people have this _crazy_ attachment to their spawn!" His eyes glanced aside momentarily, to a small cupboard off the side of the room. They returned as he continued, laughingly.

"If you want to mess someone up, mess up his kid! I can get a head start and do it pre-natally!"

He turned to Harley, expecting a warm appraisal from the henchgirl-turned-on-again-off-again-girlfriend who was always so eager to please him.

Her face was steel. Not impressed.

He rolled his eyes as he walked back over to the large desk, various blue-prints strewn over it.

"Oh get over it already,will you?" He chided as he grabbed the calendar again.

"So why the date? Planning a baby-shower?" He gazed back down at the red-circle and bat-symbol. Harley shifted uneasily from one foot to the other, one arm holding onto the other. She was nervous.

 _Well_ she thought _It's_ n _ow or never..._

"Uh, actually, Mister J...remember that time when you suggested we 'nap one o' his lil' side-kicks and make him yours instead?"

The Joker's face went thoughtful.

"Funny, I don't remember that one..."

Harley cut in.

"Oh, but _everyone_ thought it was SO clever! Would'a gone down so well if not for the kid switching to a new look!"

"Well, _I_ don't remember..." His face looked angry. He paused for a few long seconds. Harley gulped.

He broke into a huge grin, voice tinted with pride. "But I'm sure it was absolute _genius_!"

Harley tried not to smirk- she knew he didn't remember- the story was entirely made up. She had to stroke his ego and feed the flame somehow, and knowing how frequently his own back-story and memories changed, she felt it was the only surefire way to go about it.

She continued.

"Well, I was just thinkin'- How smart it would be for you to ...take this new opportunity. You know. " _Take"_."

The Joker raised his eyebrow.

"Yeah, Puddin'- what better way to show up the rat-with-wings than to get his _own offspring_ to show him up _alongside_ you!"

The Joker's face twisted up into an unreadable jumble of expressions. Harley took a few steps back- just in case it _was_ a stupid idea to have told him. He stood by the desk, pensieve in his thoughts. He traced a finger along the wooden desktop absentmindedly, lifting it up to inspect the dust. Occasionally he would lift up a blue-print, glance at it and drop it again. He turned to look at Harley, face showing signs of suspicion and slight confusion.

"Is this like that time you asked for a new pet after I tacked your goldfish to the wall? What was it...Gunky?"

"Stanley..." She corrected, before rapidly shaking her head "...and no boss, this is totally and absolutely a product of your _own brilliant_ mind."

He chewed his cheek, which made Harley's heart flutter. She thought he looked cute when he pouted- but now? It was like falling in love for the first time. He was _considering_ her request. She could hardly believe her good fortune! Her own man, actually _considering_ something she wanted. She thought she could jump up and kiss him flat out just then- but she didn't want him to shoot her, so she excersised self-control.

He sighed. "Yes...yes, I suppose it is my greatest unwritten, previously unremembered plan _ever_..."

Harley didn't dare to hope.

"You mean...?"

Joker shrugged. "OK, then."

Harley's eyes opened wide.

"OK?"

The Joker rolled his eyes. "My _god_ you're dull. Yes, you idiot! Go pull out the bassinet!"

Harley squealed and couldn't resist it- she grabbed the Joker up into a big bear hug, dropping him and dashing out of the room before he could get a word in edge-wise, singing her own ad-libbed version of an old Desi Arnez song.

_We're havin' a baby_

_my puddin' an me!_

_We're addin' a new branch to our_

_Villainous spree..._


	30. The Forgotten

_Wayne Manor, some years ago._

The tassels on the corner of the red and blue quilt were on the verge of being pulled out as they wound between the tender fingers of the seven year old boy. Bruce Wayne was sitting on the side of his bed, eyes deep in focus, mouth set in a grim line. His gaze was firmly set on his lap.

"I can never have kids?" He asked in a matter-of-fact tone.

Thomas Wayne sat beside him, placing a gentle hand around the back of the boy.

"You can still have kids, Bruce. There are lots of ways to make a family. You can adopt! You can have just as many children as you want!"

Bruce frowned.

"But...will people think I'm weird because I can't...rep...repo...rep-"

"Reproduce?"

"Yes."

Thomas sighed. "I have to admit, Bruce, that there will always be people in this world who will, for their lack of understanding, think lowly of people different from themselves." He gripped his son's shoulders. "But Brucey, don't you let those people get you down, because for every naysayer, there will be ten people who support you and love you for who you are!"

Bruce shrugged, eyes moist.

"I don't mind so much. I just always wanted to have a boy who looked like me." He gazed up at his father with sad eyes "Just like I'm _your_ boy who looks like _you_."

"Oh, Bruce" Thomas swooped his son up into his arms, pulling him onto his lap in a tight hug. "You know what I love most about you being my boy?"

Bruce shrugged and shook his head.

"Its because you're _my_ boy. You could look like anyone! You could look like...a..."

"A big...clown?"

Thomas chuckled. "Sure...a big, ugly, red-nosed clown!" He poked the boy on his nose, illiciting a bout of giggles from the small boy, he continued to tickle the child all over, in all the most ticklish places, only stopping when tears were rolling down his small, smiling face.

"You could look like anyone in the world, and I'd still love you more than anything, because you're _my_ boy, whether you look like me or not." He paused to brush a stray hair out of his son's eyes. " and one day, if that's what you want, you will find a little boy or girl who couldn't stay with their families, and you'll love them whether they look like you or not."

"But what about their mommies and daddies? Did they die?"

Thomas sat the boy up on his lap.

"No, not always. Sometimes, for reasons we can't always know, its very very hard for someone to take care of their own baby, no matter how much they love them. While we try to help them to stay together, sometimes they just can't."

"So they get adopted."

"But they're always loved by _both_ their families. Just one from a distance, and one from close up." As he finnished the sentence, the clock chimed 9:00.

"Well, its getting late, my boy." He stood, boy in his arms, placing him in the large bed. He pulled the covers right up to Bruce's chin, and leant in close.

"I love you."

"and I love you."

"I know." Thomas leaned in and pecked his boy on the nose. "Now have a good sleep."

The memory faded away, leaving the now adult Bruce alone in his room. He was still sitting on the edge of his bed just as he had done those years before, only this time with one hand resting softly on his rounded abdomen, where inside rested a small life. On his face he wore a saddened expression.

Exactly one week had passed since his premature labor pains had begun. Fortunately, thanks to the tireless efforts of Barbara and Alfred, Bruce had not experienced anymore scares. He was going to be subject to bed-rest for a long time yet, but so far everything looked ok as far as physical well-beings were concerned.

Bruce sighed as he stood from his bed and walked over to the mirror. He gazed at the reflection- the chest that was no longer as defined as it used to be- partly owing to the fact he was wearing a tight vest to compress the painfully developing breast-tissue. Barbara had insisted he take it off- that it wasn't necessary, but out of everything that had been happening, it was the growth there that was giving him the most turmoil. It was almost as if he could deal with the round stomach, and the lack of activity- but breasts were so extremely female that he could not bear to see himself with them. They made him feel completely out-of-place and inadequate, just like the lumps that made him feel that way when he was a teenager. He lay a hand over the almost-flat surface of his bound chest and slowly slid his hand down his front, until it reached the large round bump. His hand rested there. His heart beat faster, and his throat began to ache. He felt a small wave of regret weave through his system.

"Would you understand if I gave you away?" He asked of the small mound.

He turned quickly as heard the click of the door as it opened just a crack.

"Whose there?" He asked warily. The door opened further, and Jason stepped in.

"Sorry I didn't knock...I wasn't sure if you were sleeping and I didn't want to wake you..."

"Its ok, you can come in." Bruce turned from the mirror and went to sit in his armchair. "I hope you don't mind if I sit, my back's killing me."

Jason shook his head. Bruce indicated for the lad to take a seat on the bed. He did so.

"This is the first time you've come to see me, Jay." Bruce noted.

"I...I didn't know if...that is to say...I..." He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry for what happened last week, Bruce."

Bruce sighed "It wasn't your fault, Jay- these things happen sometimes."

Jason shook his head and began to play with the tassels on the quilt. "No, I mean...the other stuff I said. I shouldn't have pressured you like that. It was wrong, its supposed to be your decision, and I was just being a pain in the ass."

Bruce nodded his head slowly, looking up at the younger fellow before him. "I understand that its an extremely emotional area for you, Jay, we all should have taken your experience into consideration when we were speaking with you."

He watched as his younger ward chewed his lip, fumbling with finding the right words to say.

"Its not that I think you'd be purposefully abandoning the baby...its just...when I found out that my own mother had so willingly left me behind her...it was a huge blow. You'd think knowing I had a great life with a great woman I thought of as my mother would have made up for that- but the brightest memories don't make up for that decaying, empty space inside me that says "your real mother didn't want you."

Bruce looked at Jason with understanding eyes, resisting the urge to up and plant himself right next to the boy. He leaned forward, placing a hand on his young ward's knee.

"Maybe she couldn't, Jason... there are sometimes extraneous circumstances that prevent that." He leant back.

"Once upon a time, that may have been so." Jason paused to unwind a tassel from around his finger. "But these days? There isn't an excuse, not as much. Not with all the support out there- the lack of judgment towards single parents." He sighed "It just doesn't seem right that people can give up their own children to maintain a lifestyle they don't want to get rid of."

"But is abortion any better than that?" Bruce asked seriously.

Jason shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. At any rate, its _over_ with, and the kid doesn't have to deal with _this_ pain later on." Jason answered, indicating himself. "Of both those options, I think abortion is the less of two evils." He looked up to the man before him.

"So...how do you feel about the fact I adopted you?" Asked Bruce with a soft tone. Jason began shaking his head.

"That's different. I was older, I had a choice. I needed this. I'm not saying adoption is bad _all_ the time...I'm just asking, isn't there a better way? Isn't there some way for parents and their kids to stay together?"

"Maybe in an ideal world, Jason. But we've known for a long time that this world is far from perfect."

"Heh, yeah, I know. You practically have it tattooed on your forehead, Bruce."

They shared a brief smile, before the younger one continued.

"I know its your choice, and I know how you feel about abortion at this stage of a pregnancy...but you know how I feel about adoption."

Bruce frowned. "What would you have me do, Jay? What options do I have now that would work logistically?"

Jay shrugged, looking into his guardian's eyes in earnest.

"Why can't you just keep her?"

Bruce sighed, standing to his feet. He walked over to the bay window, staring out at the grounds below.

"You know I couldn't."

The younger man stood to his feet, rushing over to the one who had been his mentor.

"Why not? Alfreds here, we're here- just tell the world Bruce Wayne's playboy days have come back to haunt him!"

Bruce raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah-" Jason continued "You get a call from some random woman you can barely remember, says its your turn to take care of the kid, leaves a basket on the doorstep!"

Jason was beginning to get exited, whirring his suggestions out by the mouthful, only to be silenced by the raised palm of Bruce, ordering him to stop.

"Jay...if i decide to go with adoption, what will you really, genuinely, think of me?"

The smile in the younger man's eyes dropped, his face became cold, and his words ached with the hurt that weighed the boy's heart down.

"I would accept your decision, and never think of you the same way."

And with that, Jason left the room, leaving Bruce to once again move back to the mirror, frowning sadly at the reflection.


	31. Appointment in Crime Alley

At the front of the run-down premises of the former Gotham family planning clinic stood a slender, professional looking black woman in  tailored grey business-wear, her eyes hidden behind large, dark sunglasses. Her sleek hair was pinned up in a "sensible bun", and at her side she carried a briefcase. She glanced at her wristwatch, sighing as she kept an eye out for the person she was intending to meet. At the sound of a shuffle, she gasped, hand flying to her pocket- where she carried her pen-knife, "just in case". She never carried it normally, but then, where she lived, she didn't have to worry about any of _that_ and she was glad of it. This, on the other hand, was Crime Alley, it wasn't a very reputable neighborhood. She sighed and relaxed as much as she could while still standing on her guard, checking her watch once again.

"I'm giving you five more minutes, Quinzel." She said to herself, under her breath. A flash of red in the corner of her eye was the only indicator she had to the presence of another. She had barely a second to respond before the dark, rough surface of a hessian sack obstructed her vision as it was being thrown over her head. She muffled a yell as her arms were suddenly being pinned to her side with a large amount of force- she was being tied up with rope!

"No worries, Win', I'm already here!" Came the perky, Brooklyn-born voice that she could recall with stark familiarity. She tried to protest the sack, but all her words came out mumbled. From within her encasement, she could hear the sound of a truck driving onto the scene. She felt herself being dragged towards it, she put up a resistance, dragging and pushing against the ground with her feet, but Harley- with her gymnastic training and hefty experience in the art of kidnap- was too strong for her.

She felt herself being thrown into a dark space, winding her. She heard the roller-doors being slid shut. She sensed the presence of Harley as she sat down beside her. Still struggling against her bonds, she was surprised when Harley pulled her up into a sitting position, removing the sack from her head.

"Please forgive me, Winnie, but these are the security measures we gotta take"

Winslow glared darkly at Harley.

"That's Dr West, to you, _Ms_ Quinzel" She spat back in reply, her emphasis on the Ms not going un-noticed by Harley, who shot her back a dirty look of her own.

"I see old rivalries die hard, _Doc_." She flapped her hand in front of her mouth as she gave out a fake yawn. "and it ain't Quinzel anymore. Just Harley. Harley Quinn, if you must know."

Winslow laughed, "Well, _Quinn_ , I wouldn't describe what went on as a "rivalry" She smirked "You always were jealous of my abilities, weren't you? Even when it was _me_ doing _you_ all the favours in the world! I still haven't forgiven you for what you did to me, Quinn!"

"I don't expect you to. But thats not why you're here."

They lapsed into silence for an extended moment, just glaring at each other. Winslow broke the quiet.

"So why me, then?" She asked.

Harley shrugged.

"You're good."

"That's not why." She scoffed. "Melendez was good. Kane was good. Why not any of them?"

It was Harley's turn to smirk.

"Well, they always had this hang up about _ethics_ that I've noticed you don't have a problem with."

Had it not already been dark and cold in the back of that truck, both women would have sworn the temperature dropped several degrees.

"and how are you so sure I won't turn against you again?" Demanded Winslow.

"We're more alike than you'd like to admit, you an' me." Harley replied. "I've got an offer you can't refuse, and even if you have turned miss-goody two-shoes, I can vouch for it personally that with the right incentive, anyone will do anything, regardless of what they've done before." She smiled darkly "As I said, we're more alike than you'd think, you and me."

Winslow shook her head slowly "I've faced the consequences of my past, Quinn. Consequences I had to face no thanks to _you_. Nothing you offer will convince me to throw everything I've regained away."

"Yeah, well, let's let bygones be bygones and move on already" Harley said, waving her hand. "Once you find out what this is all about, you'll be all over it!"

They lapsed into silence once again, as the truck continued onwards, the occasional bump as it hurled over a pothole the only indication of their speed.

"Well," began Winslow after a time, curiosity finally getting the better of her. "Aren't you going to give me any more information?"

Harley shrugged.

"I dunno, kid, you've been pretty rude to me!" Harley folded her arms and stuck her nose up in the air. Winslow rolled her eyes and leaned back against the side of the truck. She remembered the knife that had been sitting in her pocket. She figured that if she could shuffle around enough, she might be able to reach it...if she played her cards right, and used discretion, perhaps she would be able to get herself out.

She shuffled around a bit, trying to reach into the pocket of her suit. Her fingers strained as she tried to extend her fingers- she held her breath and stretched them further, but to no avail. She sighed and tried shifting position again. She reached- this time with success! Her fingers dangled around in her pocket trying to feel for the blade- but there was nothing there. She raised an eyebrow in confusion.

"Lookin' for this?" Came the casual voice of Harley, suspending the small knife just inches from Winslow's face as she wore a triumphant smile. She relished the thought of recounting her split-second reflexes and keen agility as Winslow begged of her- wondering with awe how on earth she had managed to one-up her...but moments passed and the other woman did nothing but sit back against the truck, resigned in her captivity. Her expression wasn't even worried.

Winslow sighed and sat back up. "Fine, let's do this like the intelligent, civilised women we are." 

"You gonna co-operate, then?"

"Yes, I will co-operate." She paused. "Harley" She added, as a forced smile creeped onto her face. Harley shrugged and leaned back against the truck. Winslow took this as an indication to continue.

"You mentioned something in our phone conversation about male-pregnancy. I'm curious."

"As well you should be."

"This isn't just another hoax of yours, is it? Trying to trick me into doing something for your little family planning adventures again? I'm over taking the fall for you, so if this turns into another episode like the fertility clinic, I'm not go-" She shut-up at the sound of a hand-gun being cocked. She looked across to Harley, and found herself staring in the barrel of the weapon pointed at her.

"Dangerous territory, West." Warned Harley in dark tones. "I suggest we step back into discussion of the task at hand."

Winslow scoffed, chuckling cynically. "Which I'd gladly do, you know, if I knew what that task was!"

Harley lowered the gun and pulled out a miniature recording device.

"Before our little rendezvous, I was at the Gotham City Police Department, picking up a little "info" She plugged the recording device into a speaker and pressed play. The muffled sounds of shirt ruffling and paper shuffling echoed through the truck. She frowned and fastforwarded a bit. When the tape resumed playing, Winslow could hear the gravelly sound of a voice she recognised as Police Commisioner Jim Gordon.

"How's he holding up?" The voice said in a quiet and concerned tone, obviously words he intended for the ears of whomever he was speaking to.

"He's better." Came the response, the voice of a youngish woman. Harley knew it to be Batgirl. "He's still not sure what to do about the baby- but I'm going to try and locate an obstetrician this afternoon- one who won't talk."

"And the kid?"

"Still a rift between him and Batman...but I don't know too much about it because neither will talk to me about it."

"Well, if there's anything I can do, you just tell me- Just because I'm a police commissioner doesn't mean I stop being a d-"

The recording cut out.

"See?" Harley said. "Batman. Baby. Boom". Harley finger guns.

Winslow shook her head. "How?"

Harley shrugged. "Well, that's something I'll brief you on- only once you accept of course, and believe me, you'll wanna accept." She pulled a computer out.

"Using a little support from some associates of mine, I worked my way into one of the most well known medical fellowships in the country, detailing medical research and high-profile obstetricians throughout the region."

Winslow looked at the website.

"The Elliot Fellowship of Obstetricians!" Her eyes widened as she browsed the page. "I'm listed as a fellow!" She frowned. "But this is a very reputable program, you can't just fake something like this on a website! Who is in charge of this, where are they?"

Harley shrugged. "Eh, they're _somewhere._ The lake, or hyena chow or _something_."

Winslow balked, but managed to stifle her response into a small shudder. She continued.

"So what else, other than the fact I am a member of a fellowship whose very infrastructure is falling. Whose members are sure to recognise that I am not a member, especially after the disappearance of website fellows and officials"

"Well, naturally the Gotham Police have been notified about the administrators mysterious absence. You, my dear, will go in to testify- its all been sorted out. A few well placed briefcases filled with the green-stuff gets you almost anywhere, these days." She rubbed her fingers together to illustrate her point.

"Then, once you go in to testify, casually drop a hint or two about your research in various fields of extreme pregnancy issues, talk up your ability to stay quiet and low-profile and hopefully dear ole Commish, best friend of the Bat himself- will lead us straight to him!" Harley paused to let a grin dance across her face. "and to Junior."

Winslow raised an eyebrow, staring incredulously at the clown of a woman before her, but she said nothing and continued to browse her new, fraudulent, profile. She knew that what Harley was going to ask of her would be completely unethical, and could even risk not only the loss of her professional titles, but land her in jail for a long time.

"How can we know people won't figure out I'm not a member of this program?" She asked quickly.

"But you _are_." Harley reached into her handbag and pulled a card and certificate out. "Here" She said, holding them steadily in front of Winslow's face.

Winslow examined them, eyes widening.

"These are legitimate! These are official-"

"Exactly"

"...this could rebuild my entire reputation!"

"Exactly"

"So, I guess if you have the power to give me this recognition, you have the power to take it away?"

" _Exactly"_

Winslow sighed. "But if I do this for you, I get to remain a member of one of the most well recognised medical fraternities in the world?"

Harley nodded.

"Very well." Winslow said, trying to straighten herself up as much as she could. "I accept." She resisted rolling her eyes as Harley jumped up and whooped for joy.

"OK, Ok, stop it." She admonished. "Now, let me out of these damned ropes so I can at least shake your hand!"

Harley shrugged, smiling happily as she flipped the switch of the blade, and released Winslow in one swipe. Winslow rubbed her wrists as the circulation returned, before reaching her hand out. Harley took it, shaking it vigourously.

Winslow resisted a heavy shudder, and tried to force the sinking, dirty feeling away. Somewhere within her, she felt a stirring. An urge to cut the deal and tell Harley to forget it.

But was it too late?

Maybe she'd just wait and see how it panned out first.


	32. Rumors

_Gotham City Police Department_

Dr Winslow West stood in the lobby of the GCPD, smiling sweetly at the Junior Officer doing desk-duty.

_Quinn, this had better work._

Meanwhile, Commisioner Gordon was sitting at the desk in his office, trying to get on top of the paperwork that never seemed to decrease no matter how many hours he spent on it.

His intercom buzzed.

_"Commisioner, we have a Dr West here who claims she needs to see you. Concerning the Elliot Fellowship case?"_

Gordon sighed and rubbed his forehead.

"Just send her over to Bullock. This is his case."

" _He's unavailable. They're all unavailable."_

"You've called _everyone?_ " Gordon asked incredulously.

Downstairs, at the front desk, a Sergeant was standing next to the intercom.

"That I have, Commish!" He said as he thumbed through the pile of green notes resting in his hands. He cast a glance to the tall, smart looking woman before him, who cast him a small, alluring smile.

"Nothing I can do but either send her to you, or let her go."

Gordon groaned and slammed the file he was working on shut.

"Fine. Send her up. I wasn't getting anywhere with the paperwork anyway."

" _Sure thing, Boss"_

Gordon cleared the desk as he waited, casually sifting through piles of incidence reports and other GCPD trivia. His eyes glanced upon a post-it-note that he had scribbled on a few days earlier.

_"Help B/gl Find OBGYN"_

He sighed. He knew his daughter was perfectly capable of doing this herself, but he just felt as though he wasn't doing nearly enough to help out. Afterall- in a way, this was partly his load too. He was the _first_ on the scene when it happened, wasn't he? Even though he knew he had absolutely no professional obligations in anyway whatsoever, he felt as though he owed it to Batman to help him out. It was the least he could do, considering everything.

If only he wasn't so swamped with the desk-stuff. His thoughts were interuppted by the buzz of the intercom.

" _Whenever you're ready, Commissioner"_

"Didn't I just say she could come up?" He sighed exasperatedly. It was hardly a wonder this city needed a Batman and team of vigilantes, with an underperforming Police Department like the GCPD.

The door opened and through it walked a woman. Gordon stood, extending his hand.

"Commissioner" She said by way of greeting. "I'm Dr Winslow West. I'm sorry this had to be brought to you- if I'd known that everyone else wasn't-"

"Nonsense, we're all a big team here. We handle each other's cases all the time." Gordon forced a smile, and West smiled warmly back, before taking a seat.

Gordon folded his hands on his desk.

"What can I do for you?" He asked.

"Well," Winslow said. "I've been called to testify on the Fellowship case- I'm sure you're aware that I'm the most recently admitted fellow to the foundation, and there rests a small level of suspicion on me."

"Yes."

"I have already testified, of course, but I felt like there was some extra information that needed to be shared...however, I have _heard_ things about the Force that leads me to be very cautious about who I share this information with...I mean, after all the _rumors_ that spread around"

Gordon raised an eyebrow.

Winslow leant forward in her chair.

"I hope I haven't offended you." She said quietly. "I hold your authority with the highest regard. It's just, I can't trust all the others."

Gordon cleared his throat. "Well. I can assure you we do all in our power to ensure justice is upheld."

Winslow nodded quickly. "Oh! Of course, of course, I have no doubt...I was just...the information I have is of a particularly delicate nature, and I felt is was best left in the affairs of as few people as possible." Winslow sat back in her chair, pulling her briefcase onto her lap.

"I have with me a copy of my research papers. As you can see, they are signed and notarised by the very members of the fellowship who have disappeared."

"And I'm sure you presented this information to the Officers undertaking your interview?"

"No."

Gordon tried to resist using a patronising tone. Failing.

"Why not?"

She passed the form over to him, he took it with a quick swipe. He was beginning to lose his patience. WInslow , even though she continued to maintain an air of coolness, could not repress the quickening of her heartbeat. Would it work? Would this fall through? Would he actually believe the research paper was legitimate?

Gordon read the stamp on the front of the file "HIGHLY CONFIDENTIAL"

"Case Study: Incidences of Pregnancy in Intersex Individuals."

His eyes widened, but he maintained his composure.

"I can see why this is significant to you, but why didn't you present this at your interview?"

Winslow bit her lip, hoping her act of genuine sincerity was coming across fluently.

"Well, I just wanted you to understand why I couldn't present all the evidence that lay in this file. It's...a very private matter for the individuals involved, and I couldn't bring myself to sarcrafice their anonymity for my sake." She sighed. "I'm sure you're well aware of my history..."

"The Fertility Clinic Case...you stole and presumably sold equipment- including Genetic Bio-matter, on the black-market."

"...and I've paid the price. I still maintain that my reasons were altruistic, if misguided. I only wanted to get the equipment to people who otherwise would have no access to it." Which was true, in a round-a-bout way of speaking, she thought. That and the money offered to her by Harley Quinn for the job was more than enough to cover her legal costs AND buy a Cadillac.

"Altruism doesn't cut it with me. Crime is crime." Gordon said.

"I understand. I just...I needed you to know that I'm not what I seem. That I _am_ trustworthy. I know my testimony won't hold in court without the evidence, I just don't want to fall without having tried to provide a reason." She glanced up at the clock, holding her breath.

 _Come on Quinn._ She thought to herself.

As if on cue (which it probably was) the door burst open and an officer ran in.

"Sir, sorry to interupt, but someone has come forward on the Elliot Case. Full confession. We've got 'em"

Winslow looked over to Gordon, relief washing her face. "Does that mean I'm in the clear?"  
  
Gordon nodded. Winslow smiled and began to gather her gear.

"I'm so sorry for taking up your time.I'll be gone right away-may I have that back?" She said, indicating the file.

"My patients have the fullest confidence in me. I would never have betrayed their trust unless absolutely vital. I'm so glad it didn't come to that." She giggled. "I think I'd have ended up in jail first"

Gordon handed the file back, this time really considering the woman and her tone. He dismissed the officer and took a step closer to the woman before him.

"One moment before you go, Dr West." Gordon spoke, his tone a little more hushed "If this file indicates what I think it does, that means you would be an expert at dealing with...exceptionally unusual pregnancies?"

"Well, I wouldn't call myself an _expert_..." Winslow started.

 _Don't lay it on too thick_   She admonished herself.

"But I have dealt with an abundance of pregnancy anomalies."

Gordon nodded slowly.

"Could I get you to wait out in the hall for just a moment, Dr West?" He said, assisting her out of the seat and holding the door open for her. "I need to make a brief call, but there's someone I'd like you to talk with."

"My pleasure" She said, smiling broadly.

_Success!_


	33. Dreams in Darkness

_The Batcave_

Jason's fingers raced over the computer keyboard with speedy taps. His eyes were once again deeply focused on the screen before him as he entered more data into the system. Results started streaming through the page.

"Looks like I won't be studying _again_ tonight..." Jason said to no-one in particular. He had started his senior year in September- somewhere amidst all the drama, but other than a brief word or two, the entire affair had gone over without being noticed. In a way he was very thankful- at least Bruce hadn't been bugging him about his grades, which at the moment were abysmal. But what else could he do? This search for his real mother was ten times more important than school. It wasn't like he planned on going to College- and even if he did, it wouldn't take his grades to get in. All he'd have to do is mention the name of his Adopted father, Bruce Wayne, and colleges the Country over would be fighting for his application.

At the thought of the man, his expression clouded and he began to frown. Jason poured himself a glassful of energy drink and began reading the results. He turned to see Barbara run in.

"Bruce! Bruce are you in here?" She stopped when she realised that Jason was the only person present. "Oh." She noted with disappointment. "Jason, have you seen Bruce around?"

"Nope." He said with complete indifference.

Barbara frowned.

"Are you sure?" She asked.

"I have no idea where he is, Barbara." Replied Jason.

"Well, if you see him before I do, please tell him to get in touch with me A.S.A.P, I've found a potential obstetrician." She left.

Jason, whose eyes hadn't left the screen the entire time, took another sip of his drink and said nothing.

_In the Grounds of Wayne Manor_

Bruce and Alfred sat beside the topiaries, watching the leaves of the maple trees fall to the ground.

"Unusually moderate weather we're having." Noted Alfred, "For a November."

He turned to watch the younger man, who sat with his hand resting on his round abdomen. 

"Having an active day, is she?" Asked Alfred.

Bruce looked up, wearing a confused expression.

"I'm 28 weeks along, Alfred. In three months, this baby will be _here_."

"I believe she's _"_ here" now, sir." Replied Alfred, teasingly.

"You know what I mean, Alfred" Bruce said, directing a comfortable smirk at his butler.

They sat in silence for a few moments more, both turning their attention to the bump atop which Bruce's hand rested. Bruce gasped. He gazed at his stomach, eyes awash in wonder as his hand gently traced the surface.

"Big punch, sir?" Alfred asked.

"I swear, she could give _me_ a run for my money."

"That would be quite a sum, indeed, sir."

Alfred and Bruce smiled at each other once more, and returned their gaze to the belly and baby that was absorbing their attention. Bruce chuckled slightly as a small kick became visible through his shirt.

"Did you see that, Alfred? You could actually see it _move_ through my skin."

"Well...may I?" Asked Alfred, hand floating in mid-air. Bruce blinked for a few moments, then smiled warmly as he nodded. Alfred's facial expression did not change, but his eyes grew very warm and the corner of his mouth twitched upwards as he rested his hand gently against the side of Bruce's stomach.

"Well?" He said, after a few moments. "Where is she?"

Bruce smiled and poked his belly.

"Wake up, Joo" He said warmly. Alfred's eyebrow rose.

"Joo, sir?"

Bruce blushed.

"Well...I can't call her "fetus", can I? Joo was the first thing that came to my head..."

"You're favourite infantile teddy bear?" Alfred said, eyebrows still high.

"Yes..wait...my _what_?"

"Joo was the name of your first teddy bear, Bruce. We had to retire him when you turned three, because he accidentally lit fire on your birthday candles. Thats how close you carried him at all times."

Bruce's eyes widened.

"I don't even remember that." He said.

"You adored that bear. Your mother gave him to you. She would have him kiss you goodnight every time you went to sleep. I think part of the reason you adored it so much was because of how much you adored your mother."

Bruce's eyes turned sad once again, and he turned his gaze back down to his stomach.

"I wonder what mother would think of me now." Bruce said, hands resting limply on the bench beside him.

Alfred placed a light hand over one of Bruce's own.

"She would be very thrilled to become a grandparent." He said, comfortingly.

"She wouldn't BE a grandmother at all. None of this would have happened."

"Things would have turned out differently, granted, but we can't dwell on dreams, sir."

"All my dreams are of fear, pain and memory, Alfred. My entire life is surrounded and driven by these nightmares."

Bruce placed his hand on his bump once again.

"Yet- for all that my worst dreams have to do with my parents and _that_ night, when I look down and touch her, all I think of is her. She's the only thing I see. Its...I don't know if words can describe it. Its truly inexplicable" He sighed deeply.

"If mom were still here, I wouldn't be Batman, and I wouldn't have been on the streets that night." He looked over at Alfred. "and as much as I wish it never happened, I can't shake this feeling of,I don't know... ." He began to rub his stomach slowly. "It's just...it's like she's my _own._ It's so strong...it's like..."

Alfred smiled softly, placing his hand next to Bruce's atop the bump.

"Love, sir?"

Bruce nodded, a small smile playing on his lips.

"Yes. Love."

"I know what you mean." Alfred said, eyes filled with warmth, chuckling as yet another bump kicked their palms "and I think "Little Miss Joo" does as well.".

Bruce gave Alfred a warm, appreciative smile, which was returned in measure by the older man. At that moment, Bruce's cell-phone beeped.

"I got a message from Barbara" He said, reading it. "It says "urgent need to talk. good news" I better find her." Alfred was already standing before him, reaching a hand out to assist Bruce to a standing position.

"Not as easy as it used to be," Bruce said, chuckling. He paused briefly- "and thankyou, Alfred."

"My pleasure, Bruce." He smiled as he watched the other man walk away. "Anything for _my_ own."

_Inside_

Bruce arrived inside and was almost immediately met by Barbara, who was still looking for him.

"Bruce! There you are!" She grinned broadly. "I have great news!" She was almost bouncing from excitement.

"Barbara- control yourself" He said half-teasingly "What is it?"

Barbara pulled out a card.

"Her name is Dr Winslow West- she's an obstetrician."

Bruce's light expression turned serious.

"She's the one under suspicion for that Elliot Fellowship case..."

Barbrara nodded and semi-shrugged.

"She _was_. Dad saw her this morning, new evidence came in and she's been cleared of all suspicion. Not only that- she is _just_ the person we're looking for, Bruce."

She showed him the card- "She specialises in anomalous pregnancy- Dad said that she has worked with Intersex and Transgender pregnancy before. Kept it all under her hat. Perfect, right?"

Bruce studied the card carefully.

"We have to be sure we can trust her."

"I'm already running the scans, tests and finding out everything I can." She assured him.

"She used to sell medical equipment on the black market..." He said, eyes filled with caution.

"Dad says she sold them to _revolutionaries_ in war-torn areas. Areas that the _governments_ won't accept aide for...Bruce, she was a vigilante, like us!"

Bruce turned the card over and handed it back to Barbara, he nodded slowly.

"OK. Check her out. If you think she's safe...then we'll get in touch.I trust you enough to determine this."

Barbara smiled broadly.

"I'm so glad, I was getting so worried. It's like a load off my chest." She gave Bruce a big, friendly kiss on the cheek before she practically skipped away.

Bruce smiled for what must have been the fifth time that day- a record surely.

_Winslow West's Apartment._

Winslow sat in her armchair, reading an old copy of "To Kill a Mockingbird" she had owned since childhood. Some of her all-time heroes were in that book- Calpurnia the educated maid, Scout- perhaps the most pernicious and spritely child ever created. She wondered about Atticus and his ethics.She sighed.

"No truly ethical being exists inside or outside of fiction" She thought to herself cynically, with a slight twinge of guilt. She stood and walked to her mantle- atop which sat photos of family members, her degrees and all sorts of happy memories. Her expression turned clouded, and melancholic.

"Where are they now, Winnie?" She asked herself bitterly. "You've lost them all thanks to your own greed!" She stared until she could bare it no longer, and turned away. She went to the window and gazed at the Gotham City-scape before her, remembering times when she dreamed it would all be hers- when she was younger and full of aspirations.

_Life never turns out the way you plan._

Her thoughts were interuppted when her cell-phone began to ring, she picked it up- noting that it was from a "private number".

"Hello?" She answered, listening to the voice on the other side of the phone.

She bit her lip.

"Well, yes I am a specialist..." She mentally gulped. She could bail now, and leave it all. The whole deal with Harley, the fame, the recovered reputation...her family? Her pulse quickened.

 _Quick, Winnie_ Her mind raced. _Now or never...give it up or get it over with. Your choice_.

 

"I would love to meet with you, where shall we meet?...Yes, Of course I've heard of Wayne Corp...certainly. I shall definitely be there, 10:00am tommorow, you say? Excellent."  
  
 _I hope you don't regret this, Winslow_

She placed the phone down, filled with mixed emotions. She remembered the words of Harley Quinn.

_"As soon as you get in touch, let me know."_

She shook her head, inwardly battling herself as she picked up her phone, dialing the number.

"Hello, Quinn? Yes. It's me...We're in."


	34. The Underdwellers

Winslow was sitting in the back of a large, black car- windows so tinted that no-one could see in- or see out, for that matter.

She knew why, of course. She had figured it out quite early during her interview with that "secretary" at Wayne Corps. She almost laughed at how easy it had been- Harley had wanted her to "help out" a certain _Bat_. Harley had no idea what Batman's secret identity was.

And add to that the fact that no one else BUT Harley (and possibly the Joker) knew that she was looking for the Batman, it was all too easy to find out.

Gordon hadn't actually told her who she was going to be helping, so Winslow simply played the innocent-unknowing part, pretending she had no idea who it could be (at that stage, she only knew it was Batman- but of course, she kept that well under wraps). When it came to meeting a "secretary" and Wayne Corp, Winslow played the part so well that when the interview was finished, "Secretary Smith" was confident enough to entrust the actual name of the individual in question.

Bruce Wayne.

It had taken a great deal of constraint not to let the surprise show on her face. As far as anyone else was concerned, Winslow had no idea that Bruce Wayne was Batman- nor did they know she was in cahoots with Harley Quinn. Sure- the name had come up. "Secretary Smith" had asked her if they'd had any associations, while under a lie-detector test too.

All she had to do was think of how much she _hated_ Quinn's guts.  
  
"I have zero respect for her. She's a lunatic. I would not want to be working with her."

It was all true. Every word. She may be "in cahoots" but that doesn't mean she _wanted_ to be. She certainly did not _want_  to be associated with her, so it was absolutely truth, every word. Of course, she still had to fight very hard not to let her heartbeat race, or tip herself off in anyway. To her great relief, everything had worked, and she was warmly thanked by "Secretary Smith" and invited to come for a little ride in this stunning vehicle, to meet with Mr Wayne.

The _Batman_.

She smirked to herself, relishing the thought of how she would be able to use this knowledge to her advantage. For starters- if anything became sour between them (she and Mr Wayne, of course) she had this knowledge as leverage. As for Harley...well, this was information she would be willing to keep away from her for the time being. Winslow knew enough about black-markets and underground dealings to know that you don't just _give_ juicy information away. You hold onto it and wait for the best man to strike the winning deal. Until then, you sit tight on what you know and shut-up about it.

She was certainly glad she had checked every possible location for Harley's microphone-bugs. She found three. She smirked- she would always have one-up on Harleen Quinzel.

The car began to pull into a drive, pausing for a moment. She assumed they had arrived at the gates of the large mansion. Sure enough, they drove for a few minutes more, and the car came to a stop. 

"We've arrived, ma'am" Said the gentlemanly chauffeur. He extended a hand to assist her out of the car, before indicating the stairs to her.

"Please, ma'am, after you."

They ascended the steps, and the chauffeur opened the door for her.

"You're the butler too?" She asked, incredulously.

"I play many roles." He responded with what she thought may be the slightest inkling of a twinkle in his eye as he followed her indoors.

"I had just assumed Mr Wayne would have more house staff..."

"Mr Wayne prefers his privacy. Aside from the Groundskeepers and Cleaner once a fortnight, I am the only hired-hand." The Chauffeur-turned-Butler led her to a small, cozy office down the hall. He poured her a glass of water and invited her to sit in one of the chairs by the large mahogany desk.

"Master Wayne will be by shortly." He said, closing the door.

Winslow smiled sweetly until he left. When she was sure he had walked away, she stood out of her chair and walked over to the wall where photos of Bruce at various functions and formal events dotted the walls. She could see him shaking hands with specific dignitaries. Opening some school or hospital ward, most likely. There were photos of him smiling happily at Gala balls, surrounded by buxome blondes, brunettes and red-heads. She noticed they were all located far away from the desk- and in a position that showed them off to anyone standing anywhere in the room- but Wayne himself would not have been able to see them. It was almost as if they were there on show...

Then, of course, she remembered- Wayne was _Batman_. She wondered how much of his public life was a show. Her eyes drifted to his desk, and she could see only two photo frames. She moved closer, eventually moving to stand behind his desk, seeing the room as Bruce Wayne himself would see it every time he sat in that seat. In the photos all she could see was an image of two people at a wedding, she assumed his parents (the ones shot in front of Wayne as a child, she remembered).

The other contained an image of that butler and two young lads- one a young man, the other a young teenager. It was obviously during a birthday- the Butler's, it seemed, for the elder of the two young fellows was making rabbit-ears behind the Butler who sat at a birthday cake, dotted with candles beyond number. The other young boy was looking into the camera- she assumed Bruce was behind it- the boy smiled with the distant but affectionate sort of eyes a guarded teenage soul would have. In their own way,she noted, his eyes also seemed to show absolute adulation. It was quite possibly one of the sweetest images she had ever seen.

She paused for a while, gazing with a small twinge of sadness at the photo as she realised that these were his _family_ photos. She and he shared something of a similarity, she supposed. They both, in one way or another, lost family over the years. She could see how they both absorbed themselves in their passion to cover for it. It made sense for him to become Batman, she realised. She almost empathized. She smiled sadly down at the sweet image of Bruce Wayne's "family"- the one he had created to make up for the one he lost.

She furrowed her eyebrows- so who was the "other person"? Surely, if she was here to do what she had to do, there had to be someone else. She momentarily thought of the Butler but shook her head immediately. Well, he was _Batman_...so maybe one of his superhero associates? Superman? The Green Arrow? No, probably not.  
It couldn't have been any of those "Robins" because obviously they're his sons- everyone knows Bruce Wayne adopted those two orphaned teens. It made more sense than ever now- But still...who was the father?

She decided it wasn't worth thinking of just yet. Bruce Wayne was becoming ever more of a puzzle as quickly as he was being unveiled to her.

She could hear footsteps walking towards the door, and she dashed for the chair. She regained her composure and waited for the door to open before standing again to greet the person who came through.

Bruce Wayne- and he was _obviously_ pregnant. She recalled the medical file that she had read during the interview. He was roughly 29 weeks, by now- just over 7 months along.

"Thankyou for coming" He said,extending his hand- his voice sounded different to anything she had ever heard from him before. It wasn't drastic- just...deeper? Darker, maybe?

"My pleasure." She replied, shaking his hand.

They both moved back to their seats- he behind the desk, her infront.

"I trust you know why you're here, then." He said.

"I'm here to help you. Just tell me what you need." Answered Winslow.

Bruce did nothing to betray the nervousness he was most probably feeling, he didn't even say a word. She realised he didn't know where to start.

"I think the best way of starting would be an examination. Your secretary gave me a file with an updated medical history. It's a bit patchwork- though what information IS available is very well described, I'd love to speak with the doctor who put it together."

Bruce smirked.

"He's not available, I'm afraid" He thought, knowing the exact location of this "doctor" to be downstairs, making tea as they spoke.

Winslow shrugged.

"Never mind, it helps immensely. I can see the sonogram detail, dated from last week, it seems- so the baby is healthy."

Bruce nodded.

"I suppose the most pressing concern for you right now is how you'll be delivering her."

"That's correct."

She nodded slowly.

"Well, I have access to a private medical clinic with facilities to perform a C-Section. Though, according to what I can see in these images- you _could_ deliver her without abdominal surgery, but the details don't bare the need to share...it wouldn't be very pleasant, in fact it would drastically increase your recovery time. We have fine facilities, and we can guarantee the utmost privacy. The only people who will be present will be myself, my perioperative nurses and our anesthetist. In fact- they won't even know its you. You will use a pseudonym."

 _Not the first time, I'm sure_ She thought to herself.

"All of our patients require privacy and delicacy with the treatment of their personal details. We're very trustworthy."

He nodded.

"Now, if we could find somewhere for you to lie down while I perform an examination?"

Bruce seemed to gulp. Nervousness? She wasn't sure, but he stood and moved to the door, opening it for her.

"We'll go to my gym. There's a massage table there that's probably just the right height." He mentioned.

"Does it have stirrups?" Winslow asked.

Bruce blanched.

"You...said I'd be having a c-section"

"Yes," She replied. "But I'll still have to examine your cervix, check for potential dialation, afterall, the file says you experienced a threatened pre-term labour a few weeks ago?"

He nodded slowly, looking slightly pale.

"Are you feeling alright, Mr Wayne?" She asked.

"I'm fine, just a little- off. Morning sickness probably."

She nodded, not entirely convinced. Still, she didn't press the issue.

Soon, they arrived at Bruce Wayne's private gym and spa, they walked into the side room and found a large massage table.

"We won't really need stirrups- as long as you keep your legs still, it will work." She looked around, and then over to Bruce.

"You wouldn't have any sort of night dress or something? It will make it easier to examine you."

He shook his head. "Not right here."

"Nevermind." She said calmly, picking up a white sheet off the top of afreshly laundered pile of linens.

"This will do, just drape it over your legs. I'll turn around while you change, just hop on the table with the sheet when you're ready."

She pulled her briefcase over to her, inside were her medical supplies- she drew over a trolley and sprayed it with instant sanitizer, wiping it several times with different cloths before pulling out a green cloth bag, placing it on the trolley and unwrapping it.

"Its all sterile" She said as she turned, Bruce now lying on the massage table, legs together. She pointed to the various instruments.

"I've got some vials to take some blood samples, I know that your other doctor performed the blood tests, but I like to double-check. We'll also perform a Glucose Challenge test eventually- just to check for the possibility of Gestational Diabetes. I'll perform an Ultrasound again, and check your blood pressure."

"...and that?" Said Bruce, indicating the steel instrument that had been wrapped in green.

"and then the speculum- for the cervical exam-" She said. "Because it's an atypical pregnancy, I'll have to see whats going on _inside_."

"But you said I'd be having a c-section..." His voice was becoming a little tense. "I've done the research- cervical exams aren't performed until the 36th week."

"I know, but you must remember that up until now, your prenatal care has been scant and patchwork, at best- Good, mind, for what you have, but not nearly what it should be."

He frowned.

"I'm putting gloves on now," She said, after washing her hands. "I need you to lift your knees up and wiggle as far down the table as you can, the closer you can get to the edge the better."

He did so, but he began biting his lip.

"Don't worry," She said, she held up the speculum for him to see. "It's been in a wrapping. It's less cold than it looks. I've also put a plastic sheath over the top, for extra sterilization. It's lubricated" She moved to stand between his legs. She glanced at his legs. They were tense- his calves were as hard as rocks.

"Hey, now, you need to relax" She said good naturedly, tapping his calf.

He gasped.

Her eyebrows furrowed and she took a step back.

"Are you ok, Mr Wayne? If you're nervous, we can wait till after the blood tests to do this? You might be more comfortable then."

Bruce said nothing, but shook his head quickly. Unclenching one of his fists, he motioned to her to continue her test.

She frowned, but complied, taking up the speculum again.

"Bruce, I need you to breathe in deeply, and out. Breathe in and out, it will help you relax."

He did, and it started to work- she was ready to perform the exam...but then something happened. She had barely inserted the instrument when he shook his head madly, almost choking on his own breath. She wasn't sure, but it looked as though tears were forming in his eyes.

"NO, Wait!...I don't..." He cried. He began shaking almost violently.

Winslow looked upon him with growing concern. This was unexpected! She would have to calm him down if she were to continue.

"It's ok- Bruce- listen to me" She said soothingly, still holding the instrument in place, with the other hand placed gently on the side of his leg and looked up to him, where he was obviously fighting the urge to bolt. He had one fist clenched, biting on it with his hand, the other clenched tightly around the side of the table.

"Is it hurting?" She asked. He shook his head.

"Do you want me to stop?" She said in warm, understanding tones.

He nodded, she complied, staring in perplexity as he gathered the blanket around him then sliding off the table. He looked towards her with aplogetic eyes.

"I'm sorry...I...don't know what came over me."

Winslow nodded slowly. It was all becoming clear to her. She was a doctor, and had spent her fair share of cervical and rectal examinations in emergency rooms, dealing with victims of assault. She could see all the signs.

"I see that this is very uncomfortable for you, Mr Wayne. Perhaps we can just sit and talk for a while, before trying again."

He nodded slowly.

"And...maybe you can tell me a few things. If you feel comfortable enough to do so."

He glanced up at her with eyes that were hard to read. They looked both thankful, hurt and apologetic all at once.

"I...I'm sorry."

"It's ok, really. Are you comfortable enough to tell me why this is so hard for you?"

She already knew, of course, but it would be unproffesional to put the words out there for him. He had to tell her himself. She reached an arm out to him, he was now clothed again. She placed it softly, gently- across his shoulders.

"You're a good guy, Mr Wayne." She said. "I'd like to learn more about you- and there's a lot I'm sure I could tell you about me. We should get to know each other first. That will probably make it easier. Afterall, I'm here for the rest of the trip, aren't I?" She smiled kindly.

He relaxed a little.

"Maybe we can ask that lovely Butler of yours to make us something sweet and warm. Hot chocolate strikes me as particularily delightful on cold November mornings."

He smiled back at her- just slightly- Batman didn't seem like such a terrible guy. No, she decided. He wasn't bad at all, nothing like the menacing figure painted in the news. Nor was "Bruce" anything like the dapper playboy painted in the tabloid magazines.

This Batman/Bruce Wayne was completey different, a broken, but still inherently good guy.

Just a good guy.

...and it made her feel terrible inside.


	35. Whatever Happened to the Caped Crusader?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tmi
> 
> There's a bit of medical discussion in this chapter- detailing a bit more of how Bruce's internal structure works. It's important for a plot point later.

Winslow sat back in the armchair of her private study, reviewing files and information related to her latest patient. She marveled at how much had happened in the month that she had been attending Batman-that is to say- Bruce Wayne. Using the careful techniques of comfort and a calm and reassuring bedside manner, she had been able to work her way- slowly at first- into what she supposed was the outer-walls of Bruce's "comfort zone". She smirked cynically- she supposed that if an "inner sanctum" existed for him, the closest one could get by conscious effort was as close as she had gotten- because anyone trying to break that final wall would probably have been allowed in by the man himself, anyway.

So she felt accomplished. It had been very difficult at first, trying to coax the man into sharing more about his situation- it wasn't that she was not aware of what happened, she had only to recall the scene of their first examination to realise it- further information about Batman's awful experience was provided by her _other_ employer (reluctant as though she was to associate with Harley, even mentally).

Winslow sighed. As well aware as she had been, and as much as she should have been, nothing could have prepared her for the moment when he actually made the admission to her himself.

She could remember it clearly-

_3 Weeks Earlier_

"We can't do this anymore."

Bruce spoke calmly and without any emotion. He pushed a cheque towards the woman in the chair before him.

"A cheque, with the full payment. I'm sorry, its just not going to work out this time."

Winslow frowned.

"What is your alternative, Mr Wayne?" She asked."How are you going to deliver this baby without any adequate medical care?"

He avoided her intense gaze.

"It's possible for me to do this without help."

She sighed, shaking her head as she spoke.

"No pre-natal check-ups, no examinations, no ultrasounds- no doctor..." She stared at him with perplexity. "No doctor means no Caesarian, Bruce!"

His eyes turned to the floor, staring at it grimly.

"You said it was possible for me to deliver without a c-section..."

She scoffed, shaking her head again.

"Oh, well- yes, I _did_ say...but theoretically, Bruce! In _theory_!"

He began to pace as he re-iterated her words to him.

"You said that according to the x-rays and previous medical reports, I have a fissure- an opening that leads to the closed off vagi-" He hesitates before continuing "Birth canal."

"It's in your rectum. It would seem that it's towards the middle- amidst a few transverse folds- I'm surprised you haven't had cervical infections, to be honest."

He grimaced briefly, but continued.

"Yes, so there IS something in there that connects to my...er, the uterus- when the time comes, I'll go into labour- I'll have a colonic cleanse, an enema, - clear myself out completely. Then, I deliver through there."

"You would do irreperable damage to your rectum, your anal passage, sphincters-"

"But with enough preparation, I could...prepare for that. Muscle relaxants, I could practice stretching and massage...and I could-"

"It would not work. The muscles in your rectum do not contract nearly as much as they would in a vaginal passage, you would need forceps or someone actually, _physically_ guiding the infant out- and without x-ray or cameras, I don't know anyone without medical training who could do it." She sighed exasperatedly.

She spoke again, her tone rising slightly.

"And even if you _did_ do it without a C-section,you _still_ wouldn't be avoiding the one thing you've been trying to- someone's _still_ going to be touching you _there_ , Bruce." She paused a moment, taking his guarded expression in. She sighed, and continued with less ferocity. "It's inevitable."

He glanced at her and shook his head.

"I wouldn't say that, I'm sure there's-!"

"Bruce, this has to stop!" She said, cutting him off gently, but firmly.

He turned to face her, she was standing out of her chair now, hands crossed at her front. He noted that her head was tilting gently to one side. He could see that she was fighting to keep her eyes calm and indifferent- but they betrayed her ever so slightly. He could see in her eyes that she was waiting for something. Anticipating a response? Or was it understanding- pity even?

He sighed deeply, nodding slowly.

"You know too, then." He stated.

She smiled sadly.

"The secrets you think you kept best are the secrets most easily guessed." She quoted. She folded her arms and turned away with an air of melancholy dowsing her features.

"My mother used to say that...I think it meant that the secrets we keep closest to ourselves are probably the ones that all the most important people know about already."

Bruce said nothing as he stood there, watching her. She turned back to face him.

"Now, you assume I know, but until you tell me in person, anything I've guessed is only an assumption. You can't trust a doctor who works on assumptions, Bruce- it's not ethical." At the word "ethical" she secretly felt a wave of guilt wash over her. She shook it off.

"Bruce?" She asked. When he didn't respond, she moved closer- until she was right next to him, standing beside the mantle. She asked again, this time placing a hand gently on his arm.

"Bruce...do you really mean to do this on your own? To put your life at risk- to almost certainly risk the baby's life, to avoid the discomfort?"

He leant forward, placing a hand on the mantle to steady himself as he furrowed his brow, rubbing his forehead.

"No. I never wanted that." He turned his head, looking over at her.

Winslow nodded slowly.

"If I could hazard a guess- I would even venture to suggest that you never intended to deliver without c-section. I bet that you suggested a "natural" birth to me in order for me to tell you that it would never work."

He almost chuckled.

"Maybe." He said, standing up straight. "Maybe."

Softly, she rested her hand upon his back, leaning in close- but not too close.

"I know it can't be easy for you Bruce. But maybe I'm the impartial ear that you've been looking for. Someone who can understand and listen, who isn't too closely connected to you. Someone you don't know all that well but you can trust". She was surprised by her own sincerity.

He gave one cynical "ha". She didn't know where it stemmed from, and for a moment she thought he may have been onto her, but he continued.

"They come and go lately. I don't know who I can trust anymore."

She gazed at him sadly.

"Well, let's give it a shot. I already know you're pregnant, so- well, that's already your biggest secret down."

She could almost see him laugh internally, and she nearly did herself. She knew exactly why- Pregnancy was only one of Wayne's secrets. Still, she had to keep up her act.

He smiled, reluctantly giving in with a hint of warmth growing for Winslow.

"You just might be the world's greatest detective, Doctor." He said.

"You're a _good_ _guy,_ Bruce." She said warmly, as she led him to his seat, pouring him some tea.

_Present, Winslow West's Office_

Winslow smiled at the memory- the moment he had told her the story about that night. True, she could see he had modified it to be unrevealing- instead of doing his Batman duties, he had apparently been stepping out for a night on the town when he got mixed up with the wrong people.

Despite the topic being discussed, Winslow had to admit that It hadn't been horrible at all- unpleasant, yes- but also endearing. The way he had managed to overcome it all. His concerns, his moments of joy and relief. The times when everything was almost normal...

She could relate.

"Such a good guy." She said fondly as she gazed at the files with unseeing eyes. She didn't realise that she had been crying until she saw the splash of a tear-rop shine as it rolled down the embossed page.

Winslow slammed the files shut and wiped her eyes furiously.

"Don't get sentimental, West." She shook her head. "Don't wreck this for yourself."

She put the files away and went to bed, but sleep did not come.

_The Batcave_

Bruce stepped out of the elevator into the wide expanse of the batcave- a damp, dark place he hadn't spent a lot of time in during the recent months. He felt a slight lurch in his chest, a longing to put on the cape and cowl, and go out into the night to protect the city. _His_ city.

Still, he knew the place was in good hands. He looked over to the computer where Barbara sat, speaking to someone over the phone- probably some research for a case. He had noticed that they barely approached him for assistance with cases anymore- only occasionally. In a way, he felt left out, left behind. As though he was a piece of old machinery that had been tossed out of a factory during an upgrade. On the other hand, he felt a great deal of pride for the youngsters- handling everything as well as they did. They had taken the role over and performed all the duties without fault. Yes, even Bruce could admit that.

So, maybe it was time afterall...

His thoughts were interuppted by Barbara as she ended her conversation.

"OK, Itzak. Thanks for letting me know. Yeah...yeah, I will. OK, bye." She hung up and turned to face Bruce.

"Hey Bruce." She said as looked cautiously towards the phone.

"You were talking to Itzak?" Bruce asked casually, trying to hide his discomfort.

"Yeah..." She said somewhat sheepishly. "He was just letting me know about his sentence."

"They sentenced him?" Bruce's eyes squinted.

"His trial was yesterday..." Barbara admitted.

"No one told me about it."

"We thought it would be- I'm sorry if you- oh, gee- we didn't-" Barbara spluttered, flushing red and looking super apologetic.

"It's Ok, Barbara. I don't mind." Bruce said, smirking as he watched the relief wash over Barbara's features. While Itzak wasn't really ever mentioned in the house anymore, Bruce did not harbor any serious ill-feeling towards him. He felt that they had made their peace. Still, as much as he no longer wanted to throw Itzak against a wall, there was still a small dark place in his heart that held the feeling of hurt and betrayal- the same dark place that stored painful memories of the two worst nights of his life, and the place that he feared most when he had the upper hand in battle- when he could easily make a decision of life or death for the poor soul who had dared to do crime in his vicinity.

He snapped out of his reverie, remembering Barbara.

"So...what's the sentence?" Bruce asked.

"12 months. It was pretty reduced, I'd say, due to the fact that Itzak plead Guilty. I think the jury felt his intentions were good."

"The road to hell is paved with good intentions..." Bruce said darkly, but his tone softened. "Still, I think the punishment is fair, and Itzak is truly remorseful. This may be the most succesful rehabilitation Gotham's justice system ever turns out."

Barbara nodded, then raised an eyebrow in curiosity.

"Bruce...what brings you down here, anyway? I haven't seen you down here in over a month-"

He smiled slightly. "I'm meeting up with Dick when he gets in. I have something I need to talk to him about."

Barbara nodded slowly.

"and...how are, you know, things?" She asked, subtley glancing down at his big round belly.

"Huh?" Bruce said, before catching her glance and smirking. "Oh...you mean with...er"

"Alfred says you've been calling her "Joo"" Barbara smiled teasingly. " I've gotta say- that is simultaneously the most adorable and most scary thing I've ever heard you do."

They shared a smile as Bruce placed a hand affectionately on the bump.

"2 months and she'll be here." Commented Barbara. "Have you...you know, thought anymore on what your plans are?"

The smile disappeared from Bruce's face.

"I- it all...it's still up in the air." He looked out to the entry-way of the Batcave. "It depends on a number of things, I guess."

The rumble of the Batmobile driving into the cave echoed throughout the caverns. Bruce watched with slight longing as he saw the beautiful beast glide into the cave, drawing to a smooth stop. The doors hissed as hydraulic lifts raised the doors . Out of the machine stepped Jason and Dick, fresh off duty. They were talking animatedly about the action of the night, and didn't even notice Bruce until they were nearly in front of him. Dick noticed first.

"Bruce! What brings you down here?" He asked excitedly.

Bruce smiled warmly at the boys. Jason looked perplexed, and slightly suspicious. Dick just smiled happily- like someone running into a good friend at the mall.

"Coming to get re-aquainted with the stuff before you jump back into the cowl, Bruce? Only a few months now..."

"Actually. I want to talk to you about that."

The seriousness of his tone wiped the smile off Dick's face.

"Go on" He indicated.

Bruce stood straight, trying desperately not to convey the extremely nervous twist he could feel in his chest.

"Boys...I think it's time to accept the facts."

Everyone watched the man with intensity.

"What do you mean?" Jason asked brusquey.

"Well..."Bruce said, "I'm no longer going to return to being Batman once the baby arrives."

"What?" Dick exclaimed. "So...what does this mean, then?"

Bruce sighed.

"I want _you_ to be Batman, Dick- but you don't have to take him on if you don't want to. I'm sure we can retire him in someway, get him out of the picture if you'd rather be Nightwing." He avoided looking at Jason.

Dick's shoulders seemed to sag while Jason bristled, his entire body stiffening in some sort of indignancy.

"Bruce-" Started Dick. "How can you be sure? You're not out of commision, yet! Once you get over the surgery and are back into training, everything will return to normal..."

"It won't" Bruce stated firmly, looking at both boys and Barbara. Jason seemed to be rather put-out. Bruce tried to keep the smile from working into his expression, but was failing. Barbara cocked her head, studying his change in expression.

"Bruce...does this mean...?"

All eyes were on Bruce, loosing his battle with the smile as it washed over his face.

"If you're thinking about the baby then...yes. It's true."

"I'm keeping her."


End file.
